


Birthday Sex

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Arguing, Best Friends, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Cuckolding, Drunkenness, Emotional Manipulation, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, Heartbreak, Hospitals, Jealousy, Las Vegas, M/M, Manipulation, More drunkenness, Past Relationship(s), Poisoning, Realism, Rimming, Self-Harm, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Unhealthy Relationships, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 233,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rules are pretty simple. </p><p>Whoever's birthday it is gets whatever they want, no questions asked. </p><p>A bi-annual sex treaty.</p><p>It's the perfect answer to getting rid of all of that pent up angst, leftover desire and sexual frustration they feel for each other. And seriously, it'll be fine. There's no way anyone can be manipulated or end up with their feelings hurt or anything like that. Granted, friends-with-benefits has a bad rep, but how could this possibly go wrong? </p><p>They've got it all planned out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dan's Twentieth Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Welcome to Birthday Sex: The Phanfic. 
> 
> The idea for this fic came to me one night out of nowhere, and I decided to give it a whirl and see where the idea took me. As you can see, it got a little out of control! 240k+ words later, here we are. 
> 
> One thing you should know, before you start, is that I gave myself a mission to make this as realistic as possible. That means that I thoroughly researched everything, from dates and timelines to sources such as tweets, videos, formspring answers, etc. And as you'll note, everything I have found to support my writing is referenced in the notes at the bottom using the Harvard referencing system. Yes, I am a maniac. 
> 
> Obviously, I know that this is not in fact real, and that I made the whole thing up, but I just wanted to know if I could write something so realistic that it might even seem plausible. I am pretty proud of what I achieved, though it literally sucked the life out of me. Please, if you have the time, check out the sources because I spent a long time hunting them down and you might find it interesting as you read! I think it helps to anchor the story, personally, and gives a real sense of who Dan and Phil were at the time of each chapter. 
> 
> That's all I have to say! Thank you for choosing this fic, I really, really hope you enjoy it. If you do, let me know what you thought! I welcome your thoughts, as I am a writer in real life and am always looking for feedback. 
> 
> Kisses to you all! See you on the other side! 
> 
> ***** 
> 
> UPDATE 1: I have made playlists for this fic! 
> 
> They are from the boys' alternate points of view, so I suggest listening to the appropriate playlist whilst reading the chapter from that boy's perspective if that makes sense! For example, if it's a chapter told from Dan's POV, listen to Dan's playlist and vice versa. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Dan's Playlist: http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/158369369458/
> 
> Phil's Playlist: http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/158367548987/
> 
> ***
> 
> UPDATE 2: Nova, aka planetkids on Tumblr, has somehow channelled the gods and produced the most mind blowingly amazing artwork for the fic! It is technically a bit of a spoiler for the end of chapter 7, so I've inserted the image there too. 
> 
> If you don't want the spoiler, I'd recommend not clicking the below link until you get to chapter 7, but hey I'm not the boss of you. 
> 
> Art: http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/162980961585/manchesterz-you-always-have-me-im-always

11th June, 2011 (Dan is 20)

 

The first time it happens is on Dan’s first birthday after the breakup. Things are pretty tense, still, between he and Phil, but Bryony invites them down to London for the weekend, and they decide to go. It’s Dan’s birthday, after all.

 

Dan comes over in the morning, his bag already packed. Phil gives Dan an awkward happy birthday hug at the door that goes on a fraction of a second too long. Phil is nowhere near ready to go yet, so Dan sits and waits for him on the couch, sipping the coffee Phil makes for him and being weirdly silent. Phil doesn't blame him. Birthdays are still a touchy subject for both of them. When they were together, they went all out for each other’s birthdays. Phil especially. Who could have blamed him, he thinks, stuffing three clean pairs of boxers into the Totoro bag he has open on his bed. Birthdays used to be an excuse to lavish preposterous levels of affection onto the boy that, he’d thought at the time, was the love of his life.

 

Usually they’d spend either one of their birthdays in their pants on Phil’s sofa, hidden away from the world, talking and laughing about nothing, occasionally breaking apart in order to challenge each other to a dramatic Mario Kart battle, or so that Phil could dart to the kitchen to get snacks.

 

Of course, there’d be copious, practically ridiculous amounts of sex involved. Birthday sex was always the best kind, after all. They had an unspoken rule that the birthday boy got everything he wanted, not that Phil ever minded giving Dan anything his heart desired.

 

He realises he’s staring down at his open bag, which is now full to the brim, a half smile on his lips. He refocuses himself, reminding his runaway brain that all of that is in the past.

 

Dan just wants to be friends.

 

Phil feels the familiar sensation of his breaths shortening, his lungs growing tight. It’s okay, he tells himself for the billionth time. It’s not the end of the world. At least Dan still wants to be around you, still wants to move in with you in a couple of months, still wants to be best friends.

 

At least he hasn’t lost Dan completely.

 

A cautious voice from behind him makes him jump, his heart skipping a beat. “You ready to go yet? Just slightly concerned about train times.”

 

Phil whirls around, flushing as he realises that Dan must have been standing there, watching him stare blankly at his packed bag for at least a minute.

 

“Y-yeah, sorry.” Phil replies quickly, turning away from Dan before he can ask what the hell Phil is playing at. He zips up Totoro and slides the bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

The train ride is fairly normal, though of course Phil can’t help but be reminded of the countless times it would have been okay for him to touch his foot to Dan’s under the table, or to thread their fingers together, out of sight of strangers eyes, but a comfort nonetheless.

 

“I wonder what Bryony’s flat is like.” Phil muses aloud, turning to stare out of the window.

 

“Prob’ly tiny.” Dan says, shrugging. “London prices are ridonkulous.”

 

“She didn’t ask us to bring sleeping stuff, did she?” Phil asks, suddenly worried.

 

Dan smirks. “I’m not sleeping on the floor on my birthday.”

 

Phil lets out a small chuckle. “What, are you gonna kick Bryony and her boyfriend out of their bed?”

 

Dan laughs. “Relax, if I’m feeling nice you can share it with me.”

 

Phil’s breath catches in his throat. Dan didn’t mean anything by it, he tells himself, even as his heart starts to pound. He directs his gaze back out of the window, steadfastly not letting himself reply.

 

After a while, Dan plugs his headphones in and closes his eyes, head lolling back against his seat. Phil has unwisely chosen the seat directly opposite him, and is forced to just stare at his unfairly beautiful face for the rest of the journey.

 

An hour and a half passes. Phil gets up to go to the bathroom and doesn’t return until the train pulls in to Euston.

 

* * *

 

“Hey!” Bryony cries out, her shoulders crashing into strangers as she runs towards Dan and Phil, a grin splitting her cheeks. She engulfs Dan in a hug first, and Phil doesn’t blame her for a moment. “Happy birthdaaay!”

 

Phil returns the hug Bryony gives him happily, all smiles and gushing compliments about her city, her hair, her lovely welcome. He turns to Dan, feeling his stomach twist in jealousy as he gives her his most charming smile.

 

“Aw, you guys are actually here!” Bryony squeals, oblivious to Phil’s irritation.

 

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Bryony’s got a boyfriend. And besides, Dan is not yours.

 

They follow Bryony down into the dark underbelly of London’s tube system, Phil feeling uncomfortably childlike and naiive again as he sticks, bewildered, to Bryony’s back, pushing through the stream of sour-faced commuters, utterly no clue where he’s headed.

 

A cross-looking bald man in a creased suit smashes into his shoulder, hard enough that it hurts, and sends Phil’s bag crashing to the floor. He panics, knowing that he has to pick it up, but that Bryony and Dan are ahead of him heading up the platform, unaware of what’s happened.

 

Oh crap, Phil thinks, he's going to lose them.

 

It’s stupid to be scared about that really, he tries to reason with himself as he grapples for the handle of his Totoro pack. They all have phones. Even if Bryony and Dan got on a tube without him, he could still find them eventually.

 

Still, his heart is pounding by the time he has Totoro back on his shoulder, and he looks around himself, trying frantically to search for a familiar face in the sea of people.

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone grabs his hand. His first instinct is to pull away, thinking it’s a creepy London hobo-pickpocket, but then he catches sight of chocolate eyes and a concerned frown.

 

“What are you doing?” Dan asks, as if Phil has just decided to be irritating and hold everyone up. “Come on, the tube’s about to come.”

 

Phil looks down at his hand, realising that Dan has slipped his out of it again. He flexes his fingers, feeling the warmth of Dan’s still wrapped around them. Dan is staring at him, Phil realises, and he is being weird again. He needs to snap out of this or Dan really will want to leave for good. He nods, swallowing thickly, and Dan turns on the spot, pushing back through the swarm.

 

Phil follows behind him, feeling like he has no other choice.

 

* * *

 

 

They only go to Bryony’s flat briefly, to drop off Dan and Phil’s bags, but immediately the bed situation becomes clear. The flat is indeed tiny, and there’s only one bedroom, which Bryony and her boyfriend sleep in. The lounge area has a big couch, which, as demonstrated by Bryony herself, folds out into a decent sized double bed.

 

Phil swallows loudly as he looks at it, and glances at Dan, who wears an indecipherable expression. Bryony is spread starfish on the sofabed, giggling, trying to impress the boys with the size of it, oblivious to their reservations.

 

And actually, Phil thinks, trying to remember, the last time either he or Dan saw Bryony, they’d been all over each other. They never exactly _told_ her they were together, but well… they’d shared a room and a bed at E3 in LA. They’d hugged and probably even kissed in front of her, as they could have both been pretty certain she wouldn’t say a word.

 

Bryony would have had to be blind not to make the completely correct assumption that he and Dan were an item. How do they go about telling her that they aren’t anymore?

 

Phil’s stomach plummets to his knees just considering the dynamics of that horrific conversation.

 

And then Dan is smiling, laughing at Bryony on the bed, cracking jokes about how tall he and Phil are and how their feet will inevitably hang off the end unless they spoon.

 

“Thanks, Bry,” Dan says inexplicably, determinedly not looking at Phil, “so cool of you to let us stay.”

 

Phil’s mind short circuits for a moment. Dan seriously isn’t going to object to the sleeping arrangements? How can he be okay with the two of them sharing a bed tonight, considering everything that’s happened?

 

Maybe he just doesn’t want to offend Bryony, Phil reasons. She’s gone to a lot of trouble setting up the sofabed for them after all. There are spare covers and everything. Later, that’s when Dan will kick off about it, possibly ordering Phil to curl up on the floor. He is the birthday boy after all. He gets the bed, no doubt about it.

 

Phil sighs internally, plastering on another fake smile, directing it at Bryony. “Yeah, thank you. This is great.”

 

He catches Dan’s eye just briefly before he turns to go; his gaze could pierce through steel.

 

* * *

 

Bryony refuses to tell Dan where they’re going, insisting that it’s a ‘birthday surprise’, but she whispers the plan to Phil before they leave, because she ‘just can’t keep it in’. It’s a cool idea, for sure, and Phil smiles against the warmth blossoming in his tummy as he hears it. Dan’s going to grin like a little kid; he’ll be so excited. The London Zoo. Bryony is kindly going to buy Dan’s ticket in lieu of a present.

 

Phil chuckles as Bryony whispers the plan into his ear, and glances at Dan, who is watching them both warily.

 

“Oh God, what’re you two plotting?” Dan asks, deadpan, looking concerned. Phil smiles at him, he can’t help it. He knows Dan pretty well. He can say for certain that the guy is going to love this. “Should I be worried?”

 

“It’s a birthday surprise!” Phil exclaims, and Dan rolls his eyes.

 

“Right.”

 

Despite his apparent trepidation, Dan seems pretty happy to follow Bryony out into the city once more. And really, once they’re out of the flat, the happiness seems kind of infectious. The sun is shining, it’s mid-June, and Bryony is a bundle of excitement at the prospect of them just being there, so it’s pretty easy for Phil to distract himself just enough from the constant ache of ‘Dan, Dan, Dan’ to at least pretend he’s having a good time.

 

Phil also brings his camera, whispering to Bryony that he wants a live recording of the lions’ mating dance for his channel. Really though, he just wants an excuse to stare at Dan as his face lights up when they get there, even if it is through a viewfinder.

 

* * *

 

It’s nothing short of adorable to watch the light flicker into existence behind Dan’s eyes when he sees the first sign for the zoo. Phil’s first instinct is to kiss the look off his face, obviously, but he stops himself in time, reaching for his camera instead.

 

“No way!” Dan cries, grinning ear to ear.

 

“Surprise!” Bryony practically shouts. She wraps her arms around Dan as they slow to a stop beneath the entrance sign. “Happy birthday, poser.”

 

“Aw, this is amazing!” Dan exclaims, hugging Bryony back.

 

“I’m gonna buy your ticket.” She says, releasing him.

 

“What?!” Dan exclaims, louder. “No, come on. You don’t have to-”

 

“Shut up, I’m doing it.” Bryony says firmly, hitching her handbag up her shoulder. Phil chuckles behind his hand, filming the whole exchange.

 

Dan turns to him, pointing an accusatory finger and then laughing when he sees the camera. “You’re a co-conspirator!”

 

Phil laughs, noticing that Dan’s smile is a bit forced. He’s probably uncomfortable that Phil didn’t ask before filming. They haven’t done any videos together since the break up. Oh well, he won’t use the footage if Dan doesn’t want him to.

 

“Happy birthday, Dan.” Phil says, and it comes out a little more tenderly than he means it to.

 

Dan’s smile wavers, and he holds Phil’s gaze for a fraction of a second too long. And then Bryony is talking, distracting both of them, so Phil switches off the camera. They start to walk towards the ticket booths, Phil’s mind wandering to the heat and how inappropriate his outfit is for a day of wandering round a zoo in 27 degrees.

 

Suddenly, Dan grabs his arm, turning to him, a serious look on his face. Phil’s mouth goes dry.

 

“Do you think they’ll have llamas?” Dan asks, his eyes wide.

 

Phil rolls his eyes, laughing.

 

* * *

 

They get back to Bryony’s at around six, and are immediately given cake, alcohol and music to nod their heads to.

 

The cake is ‘rainbow’, as Bryony explains, and is possibly the most amazing thing Phil has ever seen or tasted, so he takes a picture of his slice before wolfing it down. He and Dan unanimously agree it’s the best birthday cake of all time.

 

A few hours of talking and eating and laughing pass by and Phil realises he’s getting a little bit tipsy. It’s an accidental thing, at first, because he wasn’t planning on getting wasted at Dan’s event, but then he sort of thinks that he might as well, really, seeing as sobriety is nothing but heartache and misery these days.

 

Besides, if Phil isn’t mistaken – and he’s not – Dan is getting a bit drunk too. He’s across the room from Phil, in an armchair, his cheeks rouged, hair mussed, looking distinctly like he’s been involved in a heavy-duty sex marathon that’s lasted the whole day. Phil is all too familiar with that look on him; his jeans grow uncomfortably tight.

 

He pours himself another gin and tonic – with ice and fresh limes cut up by their wonderful hostess – so that he doesn’t accidentally voice that thought aloud.

 

“Hey, Philly, pour me one, would you?” Dan asks, making Phil look up, a little blearily. He takes in the sight of Dan holding out his empty glass, a strange, mischievous look in his eye that Phil would have placed in an entirely different context were they still dating.

 

As it is, he just takes Dan’s glass and makes Dan another drink, blushing slightly because Dan looks so loose and gorgeous. A few months ago, Phil would have been urging time onwards until he could pull Dan into bed later.

 

“Thanks.” Dan says, his voice husky as he accepts the drink Phil gives him.

 

Phil’s about to crawl away back to his own spot cross-legged on the sofabed, but Dan grabs hold of his sleeve, stopping him so that he ends up sitting at Dan’s feet, on the floor, his back to Dan's legs. Phil spills a little of his gin and tonic over his jeans, not expecting it.

 

“Shit, Dan!” Bryony exclaims, giggling madly at them. “Careful!”

 

“Oh, God, sorry Bry,” Phil mutters, “don’t think it went on the carpet. I just have gin flavoured jeans.”

 

“Mmm, yum.” Dan says from behind him, and Phil feels his face reddening. Dan’s arm dangles over his shoulder, his hand playing idly with one of Phil’s shirt buttons.

 

Damn Dan and his stupidly low tolerance for alcohol. Damn his tendency to become the flirtiest drunk ever once he’s had a few. Phil should have remembered this was something he might have to deal with. He wonders how he can escape the situation before it worsens, but also argues with himself fiercely for thinking that, because he doesn’t want to move.

 

Dan’s going to regret being like this with him in the morning, one half of Phil’s brain says as Dan’s hand slides into his hair.

 

But his fingers feel so good, so familiar, so warm… the other half whines, and Phil’s intoxicated mind can’t summon up the strength to form another argument against it.

 

He leans into Dan’s touch, head lolling back to rest on one of Dan’s legs. Bryony is talking away, involved in some deep discussion with Dan that Phil can’t or won’t register, something about ‘VidCon’, a new YouTuber convention happening next month, he’s pretty sure.

 

At some point, Bryony’s boyfriend comes home, and she’s distracted for a moment, welcoming him in, leaping up from her seat to greet him. It’s at that second that Dan leans down, his lips right by Phil’s ear.

 

“Do you have a birthday surprise for me, too?” He asks, his voice practically a breath, and Phil shivers as the words fold into his gin-soaked brain.

 

Goddamn it, he thinks, eyes slipping shut. What the hell is he supposed to do here? He and Dan are _broken up._ Dan’s the one that wanted them to break up for Christ’s sake! What, has he just forgotten? Have three or four G & T’s rid him of all memory from the last few weeks?

 

Phil knows what he should do, of course. He should just resist. He should slide carefully out of Dan’s reach, smiling in understanding but being firm about how _not okay_ this all is. He should be nice about it, of course, and try not to upset Dan or anger him, but he should move away from him all the same.

 

Except, Phil thinks, accepting the defeat before he’s even considered the alternative, he won’t do that. Dan Howell has a hold on him like a vice grip. Ever since he first saw the guy, even in his lame little MySpace-angle display pictures on YouTube and Twitter, Phil has been smitten. It’s only worsened over time.

 

Not only is he outrageously beautiful, but he’s funny, interesting, nerdy and just generally amazing. Phil literally can’t imagine a person he’d want to spend time with or be with more, and Phil’s imagination is far from a limited one.

 

It sometimes seemed to Phil, back in the early days of his and Dan’s journey, that Dan was sent to him via some sort of divine intervention. He used to wish for miracles on stars, and once upon a time he truly believed once that Dan might be one of those wishes come true.

 

He remembers actually saying this to Dan one night, in the wee hours, the two of them caught in that hidden pocket of time that seems to not really exist, and so it seemed like they could say anything at all.

 

Dan had laughed at him at first, but then, a bit later, he’d said that he wished for Phil every day. First he wished for a best friend, then a boyfriend, then he clicked an AmazingPhil video and saw Phil for the first time, and that’s when he started wishing for Phil, specifically. It's always been so baffling to Phil that someone like Dan could have pined for him whilst he sat miles away, completely unaware.

 

“You okay there, Phil?” Bryony asks suddenly, her giggling voice hauling Phil out of the deep-sea dive he’s made into his whirlpool of memories. “You look kinda out of it.”

 

“Sorry,” Phil laughs, trying to shake it off, giggling at his own tipsiness. How long has he been spaced out? Why is Bryony standing up? “I’m away with the fairies, as my Mum used to say.”

 

“Always off doing fuck knows what with those fairies.” Dan interjects, and Phil doesn’t have to turn around, he can hear the smirk in Dan’s voice, the teasing tone. “Must be some pretty good daydreams you’re having there, Phil.”

 

Phil hears Dan’s knowing grin, and from the look on Bryony’s face, she’s hearing it too. Phil blushes, taking a long gulp of his drink, only to find most of it is gone. When did that happen?

 

“Ohh-kaayyy.” Bryony says, eyebrows raised at the two of them, hiding a smirk. “I think me and the boyf are gonna head to bed. Leave you guys… alone.”

 

Dan laughs loudly, his hand heavy against Phil’s chest, still. Crap, Phil thinks, heart drumming against his ribcage. What now?

 

“Night, Bry. Sleep tight. Thanks for an awesome day.” Dan calls blearily as Bryony potters about switching off lamps and collecting spare cups.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, shooting Dan a knowing grin, “just don’t be too loud guys, okay? I know it’s your birthday Dan but jeez, the walls in this flat are like paper.”

 

“Paper _lilies_.” Phil finds himself punning, though he’s not sure he consciously decided to.

 

Dan throws his head back and laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world, and Bryony just rolls her eyes at them both, turning to go. “Night, fellas.”

 

A minute passes, a door closes far away, and then it’s just the two of them.

 

Phil tries to breathe quietly, but his heart is pounding incessantly. He wants to turn to Dan, but he’s terrified. Dan’s not himself right now, he can’t be. He’s not in his right mind. If he tries something with Phil then he’ll wake up in the morning disgusted with himself.

 

And Phil is pretty sure he does not have the willpower to resist Dan, whatever state he might be in. So basically, he’s screwed.

 

Unless he somehow _does_ manage to resist.

 

Dan’s fingers play idly with his shirt collar. Phil tries not to react. It seems unlikely.

 

“So,” Dan says, breaking the silence for the first time. “Are you sleepy?”

 

Phil shuffles a little, awkwardly digging his phone out of his jeans pocket.

 

“It’s not that late.” Phil mumbles as he looks at the screen, still not turning to Dan. “It’s only eleven thirty.”

 

“Pretty poor to go to sleep at eleven thirty on your twentieth birthday, isn’t it?”

 

Phil chuckles nervously. “Um, not necessarily?” He takes a deep breath, and then looks round, meeting Dan’s eyes at last. It’s a huge mistake, Phil knows that as soon as those hot chocolate eyes latch onto his. He tries to hide his sharp intake of breath when he sees how close Dan’s face is to his own, but he knows he fails. “H-have you had a good day?”

 

Dan nods, and his teeth catch his lower lip. It’s just unfair, Phil thinks to himself, watching the action helplessly.

 

“I think I’m ready for bed.” Dan says, his voice lower than usual.

 

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk, and then he’s getting up from the chair, standing, walking to the sofabed with a slight sway in his hips. Phil just watches him, pretty sure he’d topple over if he tried to move, whether from nerves, alcohol or Dan-toxication.

 

And then Dan starts removing his clothes, of course. Just as if Phil’s moral dilemma couldn’t get any worse. He’s helpless to try and stop himself watching, of course, and Dan knows it, if the show he’s putting on is anything to go by.

 

Dan peels off his shirt as though he’s stripping at a nightclub, slow and deliberate, facing away from Phil, but taking his time about the movement, so Phil gets a good view.

 

“It’s kind of awkward about the bed situation.” Phil comments, aware his voice is strained because he’s half-hard just from watching Dan take his top off.

 

Perhaps if he distracts Dan, he won’t continue being such an awful tease. Phil really won’t be able to stop himself giving in to Dan if he continues at this rate.

 

Dan turns to him, miles of golden skin on show, all of it seeming to gleam as headlights pour through the window to their right, illuminating Dan in frequent, three-second bursts of light.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Phil.” Dan scoffs at him, hands reaching to unbutton his jeans. Oh God, Phil thinks, colour draining from his face, all the blood rushing south. “It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

 

Phil just gulps, and Dan starts shimmying his jeans down over his sharp hips, wiggling them a bit so that they slip down his thighs. God, Phil thinks to himself, biting his own lip now. Over the past few weeks, he’s actually managed to numb the intensity of how freaking amazing Dan looks like this, of how much Phil wants him when he’s almost naked, and inches away. Seeing it here, up close again, in the present, it’s like Phil’s body is on vibrate, every nerve singing.

 

This isn’t fair, part of his brain pipes up. Dan is being unfair. He wanted to leave you, and now he’s dangling himself in front of you while you’re drunk and vulnerable.

 

But Phil can’t find it in himself to actually _care_ about that. It seems unimportant that Dan isn’t playing by the ‘breakup rules’. All that matters is that he’s wearing that expression that tells Phil he wants him too, and it’s happening right now, so how the heck is Phil supposed to resist?

 

Dan smirks at him, probably because Phil’s expression is something resembling ravenous, seconds away from pouncing. Dan kicks off his jeans, sending them flying off into a corner somewhere, not that Phil remotely cares where they went.

 

Dan lies back on the bed, seeming to get comfy, leaning back against the cushions behind him. There’s still a tiny part of Phil that hangs on to the thread of hope that he can manage to fight this urge, that he can behave sensibly and responsibly, pick up a blanket and sleep somewhere else, quell any of Dan’s protests with the assurance that he will ‘thank Phil tomorrow’.

 

And then Dan pats the space beside him, and Phil, obedient, totally besotted little puppy that he is, goes to him at once. He crawls up onto the bed beside Dan, face heating because being in this kind of proximity to Dan in just his pants is always, always going to bring certain reactions out of him. He’s careful not to touch Dan, he won’t do that until Dan specifically asks him. Hey, there’s a slim chance he’s been reading this all wrong. Maybe Dan is just drunk and smiley, maybe the looks he’s been sending Phil aren’t flirty at all, maybe Phil just wants him so much that he’s seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe Dan just expects Phil to slip under the covers beside him and fall straight to-

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Dan’s hand is on his leg, and his lips are on Phil’s, like a sweet tsunami of relief and comfort after the endless days of tearful pining for just this. Phil can’t help but kiss him back, it’s been too long, and he’s so heartbroken, and damn it he wants this more than anything in the world. He’s never pretended to be good at making responsible, adult decisions.

 

Dan kisses him hungrily, like he’s searching for something, his hands everywhere, gripping his thigh, playing with the buttons on his shirt. He tastes like gin and tonic, sharp and tangy, slightly bitter, with a hint of lime, just the way Phil likes them.

 

His mind whites out, his only thoughts are regarding the pressure of Dan’s lips, the placement of his hands, how Dan seems to be slipping the buttons of his shirt through their holes. Cautiously, tentatively, Phil’s hand comes up to rest on Dan’s bare shoulder, and Dan outright moans at this first touch, the sound filtering straight through the seam of Phil’s mouth.

 

The noise jolts him back into reality, and he remembers where they are, the situation, everything. He pulls away just a little, enough that Dan tries to move with him, tries to capture his lips again. Phil doesn’t let him, his hand firm on Dan’s shoulder.

 

“Wait,” he says, a little breathless, pupils probably blown wide, “Dan, stop.”

 

Dan makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, looking frustrated. His hands grip harder onto the – now wide open – lapels of Phil’s shirt.

 

“Unngh, why?” Dan asks, leaning forwards again, and Phil almost lets Dan kiss him, but he regains a modicum of control just in time. “Phil, kiss me.”

 

“No.” Phil says, though his voice is wobbly. “You’re drunk, Dan. You don’t want this.”

 

“I do.” Dan protests, and then, before Phil can do anything to try and stop him, Dan is hooking a leg over his, climbing into his lap, straddling him. “I swear.”

 

Phil ducks out of the path of Dan’s eager lips again, cursing the world for making him have to resist this. Dan is practically naked in his lap, desperate to kiss him, and all Phil can do is try to fend him off.

 

His hands don’t seem to be clear on that instruction though, and they wander freely over Dan’s back, tracing the familiar dips and curves of his spine. He's so warm, so gorgeous, all lean muscle and soft, tanned skin. Phil yearns to press his lips against it, to trace patterns over it with his tongue. 

 

“You broke up with me, Dan.” Phil says slowly, carefully, looking away from Dan as tears prick at his eyes. “In the morning you’d regret this.”

 

Dan’s hands slide to Phil's face, forcing their eyes to meet again, and damn it Phil just isn’t able to pull away this time. Dan kisses him softly, slowly, the all too familiar taste of him starting to seep past the layer of alcohol. Tasting him again makes Phil’s chest ache.

 

“I didn’t know,” Dan says against his lips, partly incoherent because he doesn’t seem to want to stop the kissing, “I didn’t know that the last time we did this would be…” Dan’s mouth opens his somehow, and Phil kind of gives up trying to stop him at this point. The first touch of Dan’s tongue is like a shockwave to his core, making him sigh into Dan's mouth. “The last time.”

 

“So?” Phil manages, weakly, knowing protestations are practically futile by this point, but feeling like he has to try.

 

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have it in him to push nearly-naked Dan off his lap unless his next move is to crawl on top of him. Still, he needs to at least put up a little bit of a fight, so that in the morning, when Dan blames him for this, he can say he tried. 

 

“So…” Dan says, his tongue curling against Phil’s, sinful and coaxing, making Phil dig his nails into Dan’s skin a little way. “It’s my birthday, Phil. Can’t we just…” Dan grinds his hips down, and it’s so unfair, it really is. Phil gasps at the friction, the burst of hot, burning desire as Dan rubs them together, even through the two layers of material that separate them. “One last time?”

 

“Y-you’re only saying this because you’re drunk-” Phil gasps into Dan’s mouth as he grinds down again, harder this time, purposeful. “And horny.”

 

Dan shakes his head, moving his attention to Phil’s jaw, kissing the skin there. He kisses along the bone, his lips damp and fluttery, making Phil twitch against him. When he reaches Phil’s ear he takes the lobe between his teeth, teasing; Phil can hear him chuckle.

 

“Not true.” Dan argues, whispering straight into Phil’s ear. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Ever since we broke up.”

  

“J-just one last time?” Phil repeats, wanting to be completely clear if they are really going to do this.

 

He can hear his morning-self yelling at him from the future, warning him that this is a terrible, horrible idea, and that it will cause more pain than it’s worth, for sure. But he blocks out the sound because right now he’s got Dan beneath his fingertips, just as he remembers him, and there’s nothing sordid or horrible about this moment, it’s just them, like it always used to be, private and intimate and _right._

“Yeah,” Dan breathes, starting to pepper kisses down his neck. One of his hands has slid into Phil’s hair, gripping it tightly because he’s well aware how much Phil likes it. “Please, Philly.” Dan begs, opening his mouth to suck a bruise against Phil’s throat. A moan escapes Phil as he feels Dan’s teeth scrape over his frantically beating pulse. “I know you want this too. It’s my birthday.”

 

Oh, _Christ._

 

Just like that, all of Phil’s reservations are rounded up and herded into a tight cage at the back of his mind, locked away until morning, when he can release them and let them taunt him as the shame and regret makes itself known.

 

Right now, his first move is to wind his hands completely around Dan’s waist and lift him, pushing him back onto the bed until Phil is able to crawl over him.

 

Dan makes an excited sort of gasping noise as this happens, and it sets Phil’s heart thrumming again, because he remembers that Dan loves being manhandled, loves being pinned down and held, and that only Phil knows this about him.

 

First, before anything else, he takes hold of Dan’s stupid face and kisses him again, letting himself do it properly this time because he might as well go a little nuts if this really is going to be the last time. Dan seems very appreciative, kissing back with fervour, his arms winding around Phil’s neck.

 

Phil removes them pretty quickly, because he has other things to attend to, and begins kissing his way down Dan’s throat, paying special attention to this area because he knows it drives Dan wild. He moves down, kissing over Dan’s heaving chest, closing his mouth over a nipple and sucking very slightly, smirking to himself when Dan’s hips buck upwards.

 

“Unngh, Phil…” Dan groans, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Phil’s thoroughly messed up hair again, and then moaning when Phil continues kissing over him, heading downwards, towards Dan’s razor sharp hipbones.

 

He slides his fingers beneath the waistband of Dan’s underwear, pulling it down slowly, inch by inch, kissing at the sensitive skin covering Dan’s groin. Dan lifts his hips so that Phil can pull the garment over his ass, and then Dan is naked, completely, his cock bobbing free of it’s confines as Phil strips away the underwear, tugging it off Dan’s legs and throwing them to the floor.

 

He glances up and notices that Dan is watching him anxiously, desperately, one hand in his own hair, his lip between his teeth. Phil says nothing, he just takes hold of Dan’s length, marvelling at how hard and flushed he is despite them barely having started.

 

He runs his hand over Dan gently, jerking him in a soft, slow motion, hearing the tiniest whimpers escape from Dan’s lips. He looks delicious, Phil has always thought that. He’s always been all too happy to taste Dan, to swallow as much of him as he can because he’s gorgeous, and Phil wants him so badly that intertwining them as thoroughly as possible is the ultimate goal.

 

It doesn’t take long before he just can’t resist anymore. He leans down, tongue swiping at the head of Dan’s cock, collecting some of the precome beginning to pool there in his mouth. Dan makes a noise similar to a choked off sob, and the hand in Phil’s hair tightens its grip.

 

Phil keeps his tongue teasing at first, wanting to draw this out as much as he can because well, it’s the last time ever, and also, as Dan helpfully pointed out, it’s his birthday. Phil didn’t even get him a present. If anything, he owes Dan.

 

At least that’s what he tells himself.

 

His tongue sweeps up Dan’s length in flat, broad strokes, then flicks gently at the head. Phil’s hands move to Dan’s hips, needing to pin him down because he’s squirming about, practically writhing under Phil’s attention.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dan is chanting under his breath, quiet and needy, but Phil just holds him in place, tongue lapping at Dan’s frenulum, making him groan.

 

In one smooth, quick movement, Phil slides his mouth over Dan completely, taking him in as far as he can, his lips a tight seal around the girth of him. Dan curses a little louder, hips jumping under Phil’s hands.

 

Phil smirks to himself; he knows he’s good at this. He doesn’t mind admitting that to himself. It’s something he’s worked hard at, a skill he’s honed to near-perfection. He wishes he always had such expressive partners to demonstrate his unique abilities on, because Dan is just _perfect_ when Phil has him like this. Dan loves lots of things about sex, but most of all he loves to be just… taken.

 

If that’s through Phil’s incredible blowjob technique, or any other means, he’s happy. The thing about giving Dan a blowjob though, is that he doesn’t, or can’t seem to hold back. He moans and swears and praises Phil all through it, burning Phil’s ears with his pornographic reactions.

 

It’s the hottest thing in the world to Phil, and in the past he’s even come untouched, just from doing this to Dan, nothing more needed.

 

So, Phil happily continues, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue still flicking over Dan however he can manage. Phil’s had enough practice to be able to take Dan pretty far, so when Dan hits the back of his throat, he breathes through it, suppressing his gag reflex and swallowing around him instead, knowing that’s an incredible sensation.

 

“Ohh, fuck Phil…” Dan moans, his legs wrapping half-heartedly around Phil’s waist. “That feels… oh, _Christ._ ”

 

Phil makes a throaty ‘mmm’ sound, knowing that Dan will appreciate the vibrations it causes, which he does, if the cry of pleasure is anything to go by. Phil decides to up the game a little more and try something he’s not so amazing at, but wants to improve. Deepthroating.

 

He’s tried it before, with some success, but isn’t as confident as he is in other areas. Dan fucking loved it though, when they’d tried, and as today is all about him, Phil decides to try relaxing his throat again, calming his breaths, stilling Dan’s hips with his hands.

 

He slides off of Dan briefly, glancing up at the younger boy. “Stay still Dan, okay?”

 

Dan moans again when he realises what’s happening, but nods fervently, head lolling back against the covers. “Yes, okay.”

 

So Phil envelops Dan again, sliding down as far as he can go, and then, with some careful adjustments on his part, even further. He feels Dan in his throat, impossibly far inside, and it’s so freaking hot, but a little scary too. It’s difficult to breathe, for instance, though he manages not to freak out about it, instead focusing all of his attention on making Dan feel incredible.

 

Dan is so wet by this point that moving over him is easy, the mix of Dan’s precome and Phil’s own saliva slicking the way. Dan is incoherent, the words falling from his lips practically gibberish, though Phil thinks he hears his name occasionally.

 

He manages to get to the point where he’s actually swallowing the entirety of Dan’s erection, his lips bumping against Dan’s groin. He slides his fingers down Dan’s thigh, and then around to softly trickle over his balls; Dan has a mini spasm when this happens, so Phil continues, smirking internally.

 

His throat constricts around Dan, dragging obscene noises out of him; Phil can tell he’s close, he’s done this enough times to know the signs. Dan becomes a mess when he’s about to finish, babbling and nonsensical, flushed and panting, ready to explode. Phil maintains that this is when he is his most beautiful.

 

“Unnnnnngh,” Dan says, and part of Phil wants to chuckle, “oh, oh fucking fucksticks… I’m- I’m gonna-”

 

In the end, Dan doesn’t even get the chance to get the word out, because Phil swallows around him, and then he’s coming, shooting straight down Phil’s throat, bursts of it. Phil swallows it down, relishing the warm, salty taste, wanting every last drop.

 

Dan seems wracked with spasms for around a minute, his toes curling, his hands clutching at Phil, litanies of curse words pouring from his lips. Phil just strokes him through it, letting Dan grab at him however he wants, swallowing every last bit of what he unloads.

 

After a while, the shockwaves seem to subside, and Phil, achingly, desperately hard though he is, slides his mouth off of Dan and lies down beside him. Up close he can see that, even now, Dan is still trembling, the aftershocks still eliciting little whimpers from his lips.

 

Phil stares at his face, reverent, as always. His own mind is swimming a little, and he knows he’s a bit drunk, but he doesn’t think his sober mind would dispute that, in this moment, Dan Howell is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

“Stop looking at me,” Dan complains breathlessly, “I’m gross and sweaty.”

 

Phil quirks a smile. Instead of trying to argue, he just leans forwards a short way and kisses Dan softly. It’s a chaste kiss, but it seems to refocus Dan’s mind. When Phil pulls back, Dan is staring at him.

 

“I’ve missed that.” Dan admits quietly, and Phil kind of wants to roll over, to just end the conversation right there.

 

Instead, because Phil is a drunken fool in love, he agrees. “Me too.”

 

“You’re really good at, um…” Dan starts to say, but seems to be unable to complete his sentence. It doesn’t matter; Phil knows what he means.

 

“I know.” Phil says, smirking at Dan, who rolls his eyes.

 

“Alright, cocky.” There’s a pause then, and Dan chews his lower lip.

 

It’s so difficult to try and ignore the burn of his own hardness, but Phil knows that none of this is about him. It’s Dan’s birthday, and ill-advised though it may have been, post-breakup birthday sex is what he wanted. Phil sighs, rolling onto his back. He doesn’t expect it when Dan rolls on top of him, kissing him soundly, no explanation given. He feels Dan’s hands sliding under the lapels of his open shirt, running over his chest and stomach. Dan’s left hand slips between them both to fumble with Phil’s fly, and Phil grabs hold of it, perplexed.

 

“What are you doing?” Phil asks, unsure.

 

Dan stares at him in equal confusion. Then he huffs a laugh. “What, did you think I was just gonna leave you hanging? That’s sadistic, Phil.”

 

He starts trying to undo Phil’s jeans again, and Phil bats him away, still bewildered. “Dan, it’s okay. I get why you wanted like, one last time, but I don’t need-”

 

“Oh my God, shut up.” Dan says, rolling his eyes. It has a lesser effect on Phil than it usually might considering that Dan is completely naked. “It’s my birthday, right? I get whatever I want.” Phil raises an eyebrow. “I want to make you come.”

 

Phil’s eyes widen, and he glances, blushing at the door. “Bryony definitely heard that.”

 

“Whatever,” Dan says, smirking, though his voice is a little quieter, “she thinks we’re fucking anyway.”

 

Phil can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him, and then Dan’s hand is back, scrabbling at the zip on his trousers, so Phil stares up at his face, trying not to do or say anything that might make Dan change his mind. God, this is practically unfathomable. How did this even happen? How does he go from desperately pining after his ex to having Dan’s hand down his crotch?

 

Dan grins at him as he slides his palm over the bulge of Phil’s erection, squeezing lightly so that Phil chokes on his own breath. Dan kisses him suddenly, catching Phil off guard, and he sort of mewls into Dan’s open mouth, bliss flooding his veins as Dan starts to rub his hand over his painfully hard erection, still concealed by his underwear.

 

God, it’s not going to take him long, Phil thinks. He’s already so far gone, just the mere touch of Dan’s hand, even through fabric is enough to have him teetering on the edge of release.

 

“Ah, Dan…” Phil can’t stop himself saying as Dan’s hand works its way inside of Phil’s underwear. “Oh…”

 

Phil’s forehead drops to Dan’s bare shoulder, and he inhales deeply, smelling the fruity, rich, warmth radiating off of his sweat-slicked skin. Phil lifts his mouth to kiss it, starting at Dan’s shoulder and edging along to his neck, mouthing at the exposed, damp skin of his throat. He bites down, because he can’t stop himself. Dan’s hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly, and it feels so good that Phil thinks he might burst, supernova style, engulfing Dan along with him.

 

Dan hisses through his teeth as Phil starts sucking what will probably turn out to be an enormous hickey onto his neck, just above the collarbone. Nice and noticeable, the naughtier part of Phil’s mind thinks before he quiets it. Back in the early days of their relationship especially, both he and Dan loved marking each other up in this way, a clear statement of possession from one to the other.

 

Later, Dan got embarrassed about it, and started telling Phil off if he left noticeable bruises. It wasn’t good ‘because of the creepy shippers that watched their videos’ apparently. Phil kind of rolled with it because he’s always been down with going along with whatever Dan wanted, plus he did still get to actually have sex with him, so what did it matter if there was less danger of people suspecting?

 

Right now, Dan is certainly not protesting as Phil sucks at his skin, tongue flicking over the area, a slight coppery taste rising to the surface as the blood vessels burst.

 

After a minute or so, Dan pushes him away, flat out on the bed, and uses both hands to open Phil’s jeans as much as possible, freeing the length of him from his trappings. Obviously he’s too impatient to actually remove any clothing, Phil thinks, rolling his eyes. It’s such a typical Dan thing. Half-heartedly stripping the other person because he’s too lazy to actually do it properly.

 

And then Dan is jerking him properly, licking his own hand with some serious determination before wrapping it around Phil’s erection. When Dan begins, Phil flops backwards, groaning a little, one hand shooting out to grab at Dan’s thigh. Dan keeps a steady pace, his other hand roaming about Phil’s body, exploring every inch of him, dipping into every crevice, spreading over every patch of visible skin.

 

Dan catches his eye then, and Phil can’t seem to look away. Dan’s pupils are blown wide, his mouth parted, cheeks rouged from the exertion.

 

“Phil,” Dan whispers, his voice husky, and he finds Phil’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Phil, do you wanna fuck me?”

 

Oh, _God._

Phil almost comes on the spot, a strangled noise escaping him because he did not expect that question to come from Dan right now. Every fibre of his being is screaming at him to say yes, for the love of God, _yes._ In this instant, Phil cannot even fathom anything hotter than climbing inside of Dan, of thrusting into him, feeling him fall apart underneath him…

 

He loves doing that to Dan so incredibly much, he always has, though possibly not quite as much as Dan loves it.

 

But he _can’t._

As soon as the gravity of the question hits him, Phil knows he can’t do it. Such an intimate thing would be too much to handle, he’d never get over it, knowing it was the last time. He’d probably do something stupid like cry when it was all over, or beg Dan to take him back, and he can’t have Dan see him so weak.

 

Of course he wants it, he wants it more than anything, but not like this. He may be drunk, but he knows that at least.

 

Instead, Phil sits up a little, reaching for Dan, who leans towards him obediently. “N-no, it’s okay.”

 

Dan frowns, a crease forming in his brow, but he doesn’t question Phil’s decision, for which Phil is grateful. Phil glances down and notices that somehow, inexplicably, Dan is hard again, so he stills Dan’s hand on his cock, and pushes Dan backwards onto the bed, climbing over him again.

 

It’s messy and clumsy, he knows, but Phil is way too far gone to try and be smooth anymore. He needs release like yesterday, and Dan is all too happy to be manoeuvred however Phil wants him.

 

Phil takes his and Dan’s erections in one loose, damp fist and starts to jerk them together, his face hovering above Dan’s, watching his eyes flutter as the touch of Phil sparks his nerve endings back to life.

 

They kiss, lips colliding messily, but with the surety and inevitability of the waves crashing against the shore. Phil starts noticing Dan’s breathy little gasps, feels Dan’s hands sliding under his shirt and up over his back, nails scraping at his flesh.

 

Phil picks up the pace, feeling the coil of his own arousal tightening low in his groin, almost ready to snap.

 

“Phil,” Dan breathes, his voice breaking, and then he comes, warm and sticky over Phil’s hand, his eyes falling shut, his mouth open in a silent gasp.

 

“Dan,” Phil says back, though he knows that Dan almost definitely didn’t hear him.

 

He comes too, of course, unable to help himself what with Dan coming apart beneath him like that. He tries to draw it out, because a small part of him keeps whispering that this is the last time he’ll ever have this and he should make it last, but his body doesn’t listen, and he just comes, the force of it radiating in his fingertips. He soaks Dan and himself, ruining his jeans and underwear, not that he cares whatsoever.

 

He realises after a while that he’s closed his eyes, and that he’s resting literally on top of Dan. He opens his eyes carefully, slightly afraid of what he’ll find. Dan is smiling at him, looking worn out but sated, content and happy.

 

He runs a hand through Phil’s hair.

 

Phil stares down at him, unsure of what to do, what to think, now that it’s over. How will they get past this, now? What’s the protocol? Should Phil leave? Should they roll over and never speak of this again?

 

Dan doesn’t look like he minds Phil being here, lying on him, at least not right now. Phil decides to just wait it out. Dan can tell him what to do. For now, he just wants to stay in this position, staring at the boy he’s – God help him – still in love with, for as long as possible.

 

“Happy birthday, Dan.” Phil says, smiling at him.

 

Dan laughs, but his eyes are fond. “Thanks. It was a good one.”


	2. Phil's Twenty-Fifth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil decides to go home for his birthday. It's just easier that way. 
> 
> Dan is having none of it.

30th January, 2012 (Phil is 25)

 

“Hi, yeah I’d like to book a table for the thirtieth of January?” Dan hears Phil say behind his closed bedroom door. His best friend’s voice is that uncomfortably formal one he uses in awkward situations and phone calls. Dan’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Who’s he talking to? “It’s for four people.”

 

The smile falls from Dan’s face. Four people? Who? Why is Phil arranging his own birthday? Why hasn’t he asked Dan to be involved?

 

The questions burst in Dan’s mind like butterflies from chrysalises; he tries to regain some control over himself, shifting a little as he scrolls mindlessly through his Facebook news feed.

 

Maria from school is posting photos of her two-month-old baby, _again._ Yes, Dan thinks to himself, resisting an eye roll, we get it, you’re more mature than the rest of the class of 2003. Just because you have your life together and have a healthy, happy relationship with person you’ve chosen doesn’t mean you need to rub it in everyone’s face.

 

Dan blinks at himself, surprised by the bitterness of his own thoughts. It must be the time of year, he thinks, frowning at the screen, the round, blue, doe-eyes of a harmless baby boy staring back at him. He shuts his laptop on his knees, feeling strange.

 

Dan’s sitting on the couch in the living room, but he swivels his head to the side, staring towards the hallway down towards his and Phil’s bedrooms. He can’t hear what Phil’s saying anymore and it’s infuriating. He needs to know what Phil’s arranging. He needs to know the plan for the 30th. He ignores the voice in his mind that asks him ‘why?’.

 

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Dan sets his computer aside and gets up, sneaking down the hall as softly as he can manage. He pauses outside Phil’s door, trying not to think too hard about what he’s doing.

 

But after all, birthdays are _their_ thing. His and Phil’s. He can’t believe Phil’s gone and arranged something without even discussing it. He strains to hear more, leaning forwards a little to pick out the muffled sound of his best friend’s voice.

 

“Um, for around 8pm? 8 o’clock yeah, perfect. The name is Lester.” Phil says after a while, his voice clearer now that Dan is practically pressing his ear to the wood of his door. “L-E-S-T-E-R. Thanks a lot. See you then, bye.”

 

Dan is dumbfounded, mouth slightly open in shock at what he just heard. He supposes he doesn’t have any right to expect Phil to see him on his birthday considering that they’re no longer…

 

But still. They’re best friends. They do everything together. Phil did something with Dan on his birthday. He did a lot of things with Dan on his birthday, come to think of it.

 

Dan smirks to himself, allowing himself to replay the strictly PG-13 highlights of that night, over six months ago now. Phil’s hesitant but desperate demeanour, the look on his face when Dan pulled off his t-shirt, the way he kissed back, so hungry for it, so filled with yearning…

 

He realises belatedly that he can no longer hear Phil talking through the door, so he should probably back away from it unless he wants Phil to find him creeping. He takes a hasty step backwards, and then pauses.

 

Perhaps the best way to nip this upcoming birthday thing in the bud is just to ask Phil about it. He doesn’t give himself time to make an opposing argument.

 

He knocks on the door.

 

“Yeah?” Phil calls from inside, and Dan takes this as an invitation.

 

He opens the door, drinking in the sight of Phil’s room greedily, eyes flicking around it for any changes in décor since he’s seen it last. He hates that he’s not just able to waltz in here when he pleases. It seems nonsensical not to, considering they practically shared a room last year. He’s seen Phil naked countless times, so there’s no need to be afraid of that, either. In fact, he can think of much, much worse things than ‘accidentally’ walking in on Phil naked.

 

As luck would have it though, Phil is unfortunately clothed right now, just sitting primly on the edge of his bed, his phone beside him. He looks a little nervous, which is pretty common nowadays, because Dan knows Phil finds it difficult to be around him.

 

He feels bad, but really it’s been months. He wants his best friend back. He misses the way they used to laugh and joke about and be stupid together. He knows that Phil misses the other stuff too, the kissing, the hand-holding, the sex…

 

Dan bites his lip thinking of the last one. Dan would be a huge fucking liar if he said he didn’t miss the sex too. That’s perhaps the hardest thing about the breaking up with Phil and still living with him scenario. He really thought he could handle it, but in practice, it’s extremely difficult.

 

Right from the start, he’s always found Phil ridiculously attractive. He remembers nights he stayed up until 3am watching AmazingPhil marathons on YouTube, hand down his pyjama bottoms, just thinking about those lips around him, imagining those piercing cobalt eyes staring down at him from above as they moved together.

 

And then, later, when those fantasies came true, it was like a fucking miracle. Phil was _there,_ tangible and kissable, having stepped right out of Dan’s computer screen and into his pants. Literally.

 

Dan’s pretty sure that during the first week he and Phil met in person, he came more times than he has his whole life.

 

And Phil is so, so good at sex. It’s the one thing that Dan thinks he might not be able to get over. That’s probably why, when Dan got drunk on his last birthday, he inevitably ended up seducing Phil again. He stares at Phil now, still chewing his lip.

 

“Did you want something?” Phil prompts, eyebrow raised.

 

Dan realises he’s been standing here eyefucking Phil for around a minute. God, he’s such a dork.

 

“Right, sorry,” Dan says, chuckling forcedly, trying to shake it off, “I just wondered who you were talking to.”

 

Phil’s brow creases, and Dan realises that yet again he’s come across as a massive weirdo, this time the stalking and eavesdropping kind.

 

“Um, I just booked this Thai restaurant for my birthday.” Phil says, his fingers winding together awkwardly. “For me and my family.”

 

Oh.

 

Phil’s family. In Rossendale.

 

“Oh, you’re um… going home?” Dan asks, trying to sound nonchalant even though his stomach is churning. “For your birthday?”

 

“Yeah.” Phil says, staring down at his bedcovers. “I think it’s best.”

 

Dan stiffens, knowing what he means. Phil is all too aware of how important birthdays are in their friendship, relationship, whatever. Perhaps in light of what happened on Dan’s birthday, he’s looking for a way to escape the weirdness of it all. Basically, he’s running away.

 

“Right.” Dan says, aware he now sounds a little tetchy. “When are you leaving?”

 

“Sunday.”

 

“How long are you going for?”

 

“A few days. I’m not sure really.”

 

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be really fun.”

 

“Yeah.” Phil says, still not looking at Dan. There’s a moment where Phil looks like he might say something else, but then his eyes flick to Dan’s, and he stays quiet.

 

A few moments pass, and then Dan nods, rolls his eyes, and walks out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

A while later, Dan’s dragged his laptop and charger the few miles to his bedroom, setting himself up on his bed because he doesn’t want to face Phil right now. He’s scrolling through Tumblr when the weight of his and Phil’s conversation just now begins pushing down on him. He stops scrolling, closing his eyes and groaning at how much of an idiot he’s being over all this. Dan has a tendency to be a little melodramatic about this kind of stuff. He knows that.

 

Phil is allowed to spend his birthday without you, Dan tells himself, shaking his head at his own irritating tendencies.

 

Just because Phil was nice enough to spend your birthday with you after the breakup, doesn’t mean that he actually wants that for his own birthday.

 

With some reluctance, he pushes his laptop off his chest and sits up, head swimming a little as he acclimatises to the new posture. He gets off the bed slowly, knowing he is prone to fainting if he tries to get up too fast, and wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake of a shitty evening. Okay, he thinks once he’s standing. Time to go face the music, try and set things straight.

 

He finds Phil in the kitchen, holding open the fridge door and looking inside. He’s got a leek in his hand, and he peers down at it suspiciously, as though wondering whether he should throw it away.

 

“Hey.” Dan says, and Phil jumps a little. Dan lets out a small chuckle. “Jeez you’re easy to scare.”

 

Phil sends Dan a forced, half-smile, turning back to the fridge. “You’re pretty scary.”

 

Maybe he is, Dan thinks. He’s never considered the idea that he might _scare_ Phil, make him anxious or uncomfortable. He knows that the situation they’re both in right now is kind of a minefield, because they spent so long being together romantically, and it’s a learning curve to try and carve away the romance part.

 

Gah, this is all so difficult. Dan finds his mind clogged with this stuff on a daily basis. Is he being too nice to Phil? Is he being too horrible to Phil? Is Phil okay living with him now that they’ve broken up? Will the two of them ever figure out a way to make things normal again?

 

He forces his mind to clear, just for the time being. He can deal with all that shit later, when he’s alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, riddled with pathetic, annoying guilt.

 

“I’m, um,” Dan tries to say, shifting awkwardly on the spot, “I’m sorry if I was a dick earlier.”

 

Phil’s head whips round to face him so fast that Dan has to blink a little in surprise. The expression on his best friend’s face is one of pure shock; Dan’s not that surprised. He rarely apologises. But Phil’s different.

 

“That’s okay.” Phil says quietly after a moment, his cheeks a little pink.

 

He looks so fucking cute in his glasses and hoodie, Dan can’t help but think, watching him turn back to the empty fridge. Those glasses were always a turn on. He thinks back to going to see 3D films with Phil at the cinema, _Avatar_ and _Alice in Wonderland_ , probably tons more. Between them they collected around twenty pairs of 3D glasses, and Dan remembers them both wearing them all the time because it made them look like sexy MySpace scene kids. They’d kiss and fuck in those glasses constantly, both of them well aware of how much it turned the other on.

 

And then, a few weeks ago Phil had to go and see his optician, who told him he needed to wear real, actual glasses sometimes as well as his contacts. So now Dan is just in a perpetual state of semi-arousal even when Phil is doing something as simple as frowning at his laptop screen, or peering at the vegetables in the fridge. One look at those glasses on Phil’s face and he’s back in 2009, painfully hard and watching helplessly as Phil in 3D glasses sucks him off after they get home from _Avatar._

 

Belatedly, engrossed as Dan is in objectifying his friend right in front of him, he realises that Phil is still talking.

 

“…just didn’t want it to be weird or whatever, plus my parents were going on about how twenty-five is a milestone and a quarter of my life is gone or something, I don’t know. They wanna see me, basically.”

 

Dan nods, trying to be understanding, though he tactfully moves his hand to sort-of cover his crotch. He might grab a cold shower in a moment or two.

 

Damn those fucking glasses.

 

Phil turns to look at him then, closing the fridge door with a sigh. He looks at Dan expectantly, as though wondering why he hasn’t responded.

 

God fucking damn it, Dan thinks, licking his lips absent-mindedly. Phil’s hair is ruffled, he looks like he hasn’t eaten all day, yet the look sits well on him, hollowing his cheeks, paling his skin. His eyes seem a deeper shade of blue today behind those thick black rims than they’ve ever been.

 

This would all be so much easier to deal with if Phil wasn’t so goddamn attractive. He’s literally the embodiment of Dan’s type. Delicious, sexy emo guy who acts innocent and nerdy, but smirks a little too knowingly for it to be true.

 

“What do you want for your birthday, Phil?” Dan finds himself asking, and he takes a step closer to Phil for some reason he can’t fathom.

 

Phil immediately blushes, and his hands slip into the back pockets of his jeans. He’s flustered. Pull yourself together Dan, he tells himself. Stop doing this, you already broke the guy’s heart. Stop confusing him.

 

But he can’t stop now, because behind the nervous unsurety in Phil’s expression is that want again, that desire to touch and claim, to close the distance between them as though they’d never been apart. Dan knows Phil would never do this unless Dan specifically requested it, of course. He hurt the guy too much for that.

 

“I seem to remember my last birthday present from you being pretty spectacular.” Dan continues, his eyes growing hooded, his smile predatory.

 

Phil takes an immediate step backward, mouth falling slightly open. “Um,” he says, still obviously panicked, “n-nothing, Dan.” He says quickly. “You don’t need to get me a present. Just a card or something if you really want.”

 

With that, Phil’s slipping past him, out of the kitchen, and hurrying away down the hall, grabbing his laptop off the arm of the couch as he goes. Dan watches him with a wanton expression until he disappears from sight; his bedroom door closes behind him.

 

It’s at that moment that he realises what he just did.

 

“Oh my fucking God. You absolute twat.” He says to himself, in utter disbelief at his own actions by this point.

 

Sometimes he thinks he maybe is an awful human being. He can’t really make a video about this though.

 

* * *

 

 

“Just like old times, eh?” Dan says into his webcam, smiling, though his heart pangs.

 

He stuffs the memories away, in the box he doesn’t look at in the dusty corner of his mind.

 

“Ha… yeah.” The slightly pixelated Phil on Dan’s screen replies, though his smile doesn’t look very genuine. “What are you up to?”

 

Dan types ‘wuu2’ into the Skype chat, and Phil laughs. It sounds more like his real laugh, this time. Dan allows himself to relax a little.

 

“Not much, just in my room.” Dan replies, looking briefly around himself. He glances towards his bedroom door, which is ajar, letting some of the shadowy darkness of the hall spill through. “The flat’s kind of scary when you’re not here, not gonna lie.”

 

Phil chuckles again, fingers over his mouth. He looks fond. “Have you been reading creepypasta again?”

 

Dan laughs. “No! I swear I haven’t. I just hate the dark.”

 

“I know.” Phil says, a little too quickly, and Dan swallows.

 

“Yeah.”

 

More memories cascade down from somewhere, so Dan systematically shoves them all into the overstuffed box, one by one. The time Dan Skyped Phil whilst home alone in Reading and heard noises from downstairs, so Phil sang him stupid songs and played games with him until he felt okay again. The time Dan woke up from a horrific nightmare about a demon lurking in the shadows of his Uni halls, but Phil was beside him and kissed him back to sleep, held him until he stopped shaking. The time-

 

“Dan?”

 

Dan’s mind crashes back down to earth at lightning speed. Phil is peering into his camera, eyes squinty and adorable. Dan smiles a little.

 

“Yeah, sorry.”

 

“Oh.” Phil says, leaning away again. “I thought you froze. You weren’t saying anything.”

 

“Soz.” Dan says, and Phil gives him another half-smile. Dan tries to think of something to distract him from that weird interlude, and notices the time. “Hey it’s ten minutes until your birthday!”

 

“Meow,” Phil mews excitedly, scrunching up his face in a smile. “Yay!”

 

“What shall we do at midnight to celebrate?”

 

“Ummm, have a sleeping contest until morning?” Phil suggests, and Dan gives him a look. Phil laughs, his tongue poking out a little.

 

Dan’s breath hitches, his mind travelling to unclean places. “I’ve got a better idea…”

 

Phil’s brows knit together, and he looks a little scared. “Okay…”

 

“I think I’ll save it till it’s actually time.” Dan decides, smirking when the tension drops out of Phil’s shoulders. He ignores Phil’s annoyed sigh in favour of looking behind him, at the extremely familiar setting of Phil’s bedroom, exactly the same as it always has been, right down to the stripy green and blue wallpaper. “God, I miss your room.”

 

Phil blinks in surprise, looking around himself. “Really? It’s so small and boring compared to the one I’ve got in our flat.”

 

“Not as many memories though.” Dan reminds him, aware that he’s stirring the pot a little at this point.

 

Almost all of the memories that are flitting through his brain at the moment are X-rated; he would bet ten bucks that Phil’s currently viewing a similar internal montage.

 

“I guess.” Phil sort of mutters. The connection isn’t good enough to properly see if there’s a blush on his friend’s cheeks, but Dan knows there is anyway. “I made most of my videos in here after all.”

 

“Philisnotonfire.” Dan prompts, resting his chin in his hand and smirking. Okay, now he’s just being a little shit. He knows it. He knows it well. But he can’t stop. “Remember when we were doing the sign off and you jumped on me?”

 

Phil shifts awkwardly, but Dan ignores it, chuckling.

 

“God, we didn’t get up for a while after that. Probably got some steamy footage. I don’t think you turned the camera off, did you?”

 

“Dan, what are you doing?” Phil asks, sounding pained.

 

A wash of guilt cascades over Dan, but he pushes it away, not prepared to stop yet. “I think I probably spent more time in that room naked than with clothes on.”

 

“Dan-”

 

“Uma was always disgusted.” Dan grins, eyes flicking to the corner of the screen, where Phil’s Kill Bill poster is visible, still taped to his door.

 

There’s a moment of silence, where Dan and Phil just stare at each other, separated by two computer screens and twenty-five miles. It’s not all that far, really. Not compared to how it used to be.

 

When he used to Skype with Phil, back before he’d even met him, the distance between them seemed incomprehensible. Over two hundred miles when Phil still lived at home. They were never able to just hop on a train or get in a car to see each other, it was too much money, too much time, too much of everything.

 

But now, Dan is barely an hour away. He could get there by morning. Hmm, he thinks, pondering the thought.

 

“It’s midnight.” Phil says suddenly, breaking Dan out of his musings.

 

“What?” Dan says stupidly, then checks the time in the corner of his screen. “Oh my God- Happy birthday!”

 

Phil stares at him for a moment, seemingly at a loss for what to say.

 

“Thanks.” He says eventually, eyes sliding to somewhere else that Dan can’t see.

 

No, Dan thinks, he’s not enjoying this. He’s just upset now. On his birthday too, way to go. Dan, you’ve got to bring this back, he tells himself.

 

“Do you want to know how I thought we should celebrate now?” Dan asks, being deliberately enigmatic, a sly grin on his face.

 

Phil looks a little exasperated. “I’m not sure.”

 

Dan grins at him, trying desperately to lighten this sickeningly tense atmosphere. It’s Phil’s birthday, he tells himself. He might as well give the guy what he really wants.

 

Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Dan reaches for the hem of his shirt. He pulls it upwards with precision, arms crossed over themselves as he goes.

 

Phil’s mouth falls open, his head whirls around to check the door. There’s nobody there, obviously. It’s midnight on a Tuesday. Phil’s whole family are sound asleep.

 

“Dan, what’re you-” Phil starts to whisper, but Dan just smirks.

 

“Happy birthday, Phil.”

 

He tugs the t-shirt off completely then, throwing it aside without looking. He leans back a short way, letting Phil drink in the full sight of him completely shirtless. He’s only in his boxers too, so Dan wheels his desk chair back a little so that Phil can see.

 

He places a hand over his crotch, feeling the familiar bulge of his own steadily growing arousal. This is so naughty, he thinks to himself, barely able to believe he’s actually doing this. Phil seems to be in a similar state of disbelief, his mouth hanging open, eyes fixated on Dan’s hand.

 

Dan presses lightly against his erection, hissing a little through his teeth.

 

“Fuck, Dan-” Phil starts to say, but then there’s a sound, cutting him off.

 

“Phil?” A voice calls from in the background behind Phil, and the blood drains suddenly from Dan’s face. It’s a woman’s voice, sounding a heck of a lot like Phil’s mum.

 

Sure enough, Dan has no time to cover himself before Mrs Lester walks boldly into her son’s bedroom, grinning away, a card and present clutched in one hand, a cupcake with a single lit candle held aloft in the other. “Haaappy birthdaaay tooo youuu!”

 

Phil whirls round to face her, fear in his eyes, and at that precise second she looks over at the screen; for a full three seconds, Dan catches and holds her gaze, her mouth falling open, before Phil slams the lid of his laptop closed, and Dan’s screen goes dark.

 

Well, fuck.

 

Dan removes his hand from where it still rests over the front of his boxers.

 

That probably could not have gone any worse.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Dan wakes up with a familiar cocktail of shame and self-hatred brewing in his stomach. He buries his face in his pillow and groans at his own ineptitude at life, and then rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He replays the moment he caught the eye of Phil’s mum over and over, imagines what could, what _must_ have been said after Phil ended the call.

 

To be fair, thinks Dan, it’s not like she doesn’t know about he and Phil having a… thing. Dan practically lived at their house during his gap year, and normal friends at the ages of eighteen and twenty-two don’t typically have that many sleepovers. Especially when those sleepovers result in them sharing a bed.

 

Also, they weren’t exactly careful around her. Phil has never – to Dan’s knowledge – outright stated to either of his parents that he and Dan were an item, however the two of them would spend hours mucking about making stupid videos, going on long country walks holding hands, poring over photos of Phil in his infancy, Dan cooing at the tiny versions of his favourite person because he is so desperately smitten.

 

Was, he corrects himself. _Was_.

 

It’s all different now.

 

So maybe Dan is making a big deal out of her seeing her son having what was quite clearly a less than innocent Skype call. To her knowledge, Dan is still involved with Phil. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing because she’s Phil’s mum or whatever, but it’s not _that bad._

 

Right?

 

“Keep telling yourself that.” Dan says out loud, sighing and rolling over to grab his phone off the bedside table.

 

The first thing he notices is a text from Phil himself.

 

Oh God, he thinks, stomach starting to churn. Here we go.

 

**From: Phil Lester**

**To: Dan Howell**

**00: 32am**

Sorry about the dramatic end  
to our call there lol  
Mum is cool with it, I told her  
you’re allergic to clothes  
x

 

Huh, thinks Dan as he reads it. He fully expected Phil to hang him out to dry for doing what he did last night. In terms of ex-boyfriend etiquette, stripping and taunting the other person with your naked body is extremely uncool. Even if it was meant to be a kind-of present.

 

But Phil seems… okay. He’s probably not completely fine, granted, but he seems… not angry, at least. Dan can work with that.

 

He wonders what Phil is doing now. Probably tucking in to a birthday breakfast. His favourite thing in the world. It will almost definitely consist of waffles and maple syrup, too. Dan always made sure (in the two birthdays he actually had with Phil) that he had these things to hand on his birthday.

 

He also made sure he had all the other things Phil enjoys most readily available – namely, himself. Because as sure as sugar, as soon as breakfast was over, Phil would want move on to his next favourite birthday activity.

 

Birthday sex.

 

Dan groans a little, bringing the covers up over his face. God, he misses birthday sex. There was just something about it. No matter which of them it was that had the birthday, the sex was guaranteed to be incredible. This even includes his last birthday, thinks Dan, and they weren’t even together then.

 

Hmm, he thinks, mulling this point over for a moment. That’s an interesting thought actually. They don’t even need to be together for the birthday sex to be amazing.

 

Perhaps it’s a sign.

 

* * *

 

 

It really doesn’t take a lot for Dan to convince himself, he thinks later that day, his ticket in his pocket, an overnight bag at his feet, the bus he’s on currently speeding towards Rossendale, Lancashire at sixty miles per hour.

 

He and Phil are meant to be with one another on each other’s birthdays, Dan tells himself for the thousandth time. It’s clear to him now. It’s the way to solve all their problems.

 

The bus hits a speedbump and the small bottle of durex lube Dan brought along falls out, skidding across the floor. A man with a moustache and bomber jacket bends down and picks it up, clutching it between his thumb and forefinger a little disgustedly when he reads the label.

 

Dan, mortified, thanks him and takes it, stuffing it in his pocket before anyone else sees. He takes his seat again in silence, resisting the urge to facepalm. He feels moustache-guy’s judgemental eyes on him for the rest of the journey.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s all very well convincing himself that this is an excellent plan and that Phil will be thrilled on the journey there, but all too soon Dan finds himself standing outside the Lester’s front door, and a slow, sickening dread trickles over him as he realises what he’s done.

 

It’s not too late, he supposes, swallowing thickly as he stares at the house in front of him, just as picturesque as he remembers it. He could still turn back, head home, pretend this never happened. He could shove this mad idea he had to show up unexpectedly on Phil’s door behind him, give his best friend a safe, normal, healthy birthday _phone call_ instead of stalking him all the way back to his hometown because he can’t stand the idea of one measly birthday without the guy.

 

He knows he can’t though. Not now; he’s come too far. He feels as though Phil would somehow _know_ as well, as though Phil would see it on him, smell the creepy, stalkery aroma that will inevitably radiate off of him after this, maybe forever.

 

He takes a step forwards, onto the stone doorstep. There’s a welcome mat that reads ‘Beware of the Bunny’ at his feet, and Dan smiles at it, just sensing that Phil picked it out.

 

Without letting himself dwell, he raises his hand to the knocker, lifting it twice, his pounds loud and fearless, as though compensating for his faltering nerves.

 

There’s an agonising thirty seconds wherein Dan has to battle with himself in order to stay put. Then there are footsteps bounding down the stairs, quickly, too fast for Dan to even try and run away.

 

And then the door is opening, so Dan plasters on a confident smile. 

 

Of course it’s Phil himself that opens the door. He’s wearing a purple and black plaid shirt that seems familiar to Dan for reasons he can’t quite remember. His hair is perfectly coiffed, side fringe moulded into place, and there’s a plastic crown on his head that says ‘Birthday Boy’.

 

The look he gives Dan is pure, disbelieving shock.

 

Dan has to work to keep the grin on his face. “Hi. Happy Birthday.”

 

Phil doesn’t seem able to respond. Dan’s eyes flick to the space over Phil’s shoulder, searching for other Lesters that might be lurking nearby. He decides to just go for it – he might as well dive straight in, he’s come this far.

 

He steps forward, dropping his bag by his feet, and wraps his arms around Phil’s shoulders. It’s a friend-hug; Dan is careful to keep it short and end it with a reassuring pat on the back. When he steps away from Phil again, trying not to focus on the fact Phil didn’t return the hug, his best friend has a look of mild horror on his face.

 

“Dan, what are you-”

 

“Phil?!” A voice calls from in the depths of the house somewhere. Dan automatically stiffens. It’s a female voice again, almost definitely Mrs Lester making a perfectly timed appearance once more. She walks into view just as Phil turns towards her. “Who’s at the- oh! Daniel.”

 

Dan doesn’t miss the way her cheeks immediately flame at the sight of him. He cringes internally, suppressing the thought of catching her eye last night at midnight as he palmed himself through his boxers in the hopes of arousing her son.

 

“H-hi, Mrs Lester.” Dan says politely, knowing he must be blushing too.

 

“What a nice… surprise!” Phil’s mum stutters out after a pregnant pause. “Phil, you didn’t tell me Dan was coming.” Phil just continues to stare at Dan on the doorstep as though he can’t quite fathom his presence. “Not that I mind, of course!” Phil’s mum continues, oblivious. “Come in, Dan.”

 

So, without much of an alternative option, Dan does, picking up his bag and awkwardly shuffling past Phil into his childhood home.

 

Seeming bewildered, Phil shuts the door behind him. “Sorry for the short notice,” Dan starts to babble, desperate to smooth over the excruciating awkwardness of this situation, all three of them just standing like lemons in the hall, “I was gonna be busy this weekend so I couldn’t make it originally, but then my plans changed. I thought I’d surprise Phil instead of telling him. I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Phil’s mum assures Dan, going to pat him on the arm before thinking better of it, her cheeks pinkening again as she meets his eyes. “Um, come into the kitchen, both of you. Martyn’s back from the shop, he’s brought some cake and things.”

 

Dan smiles widely at her, following closely as she leads he and Phil through the small house, cluttered with dark oak furniture and inexplicable knick-knacks Phil’s mum finds in charity shops. He purposefully doesn’t turn back to face Phil, who is walking so close behind him Dan wonders how his toes don’t catch on the backs of his shoes.

 

“Okay, who wants cake- oh. Dan!” Martyn exclaims, a carving knife held aloft in one hand. It unnerves Dan somewhat. Phil might not have discussed the finer details of his and Dan’s relationship with his parents, but Phil and Martyn share everything. Dan’s guess would be that Martyn Lester does not have a fantastic opinion of him right now. “Uh… cake?”

 

Dan doesn’t miss the meaningful look that’s exchanged between the Lester brothers, one that screams confusion on Martyn’s part and something far colder on Phil’s. He just smiles as if oblivious, nodding enthusiastically.

 

“I think something would have to be very wrong with me if I said no to cake.” Dan says, laughing a little nervously. Phil’s mum appears again, bustling about him, tugging at the bag on his shoulder.

 

“Give me this, I’ll hang it up for you.” She says, and Dan just lets her; she’s clearly uncomfortable, it gives her something to distract herself with, at least. “Or…” She pauses, blushing yet again. She darts a look at Phil. “…shall I pop it up in Philip’s room?”

 

“Hang it up.” Phil says quickly, his voice hard and flat.

 

Dan scoots away from him a little. He’s clearly annoyed, but he’ll calm down soon, probably. All Dan has to do is avoid being alone with him until they’re tipsy and have spent at least three hours in each other’s company.

 

He walks over to where Martyn hovers uncertainly around the cake he’s bought. It’s a chocolate one, with icing piped on it that reads ‘Happy Birthday Phil’. There are a few blown out candles still stuck in the top. Dan realises that this probably means his arrival interrupted the very moment everyone was singing Phil happy birthday.

 

Fantastic timing as always, Dan tells himself sarcastically, resisting another urge to facepalm.

 

“So, you’re coming to dinner tonight then?” Martyn asks conversationally, his tone perfectly pleasant, though a little cautious, as if he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

 

“Um, yeah, I suppose.” Dan replies, chuckling.

 

Martyn cuts the first slice of the cake.

 

“I hope they’ll be okay with it.” Phil comments icily, staring daggers at Dan. “I only booked the table for four people.”

 

Dan bats his hand through the air, laughing, though his stomach is in knots.

 

Why did he think coming here would be a good idea, again?

 

“They’ve just gotta pull up an extra chair. It’ll be fine.”

 

Martyn’s gaze flickers between Dan and Phil as they lock eyes, unblinking, each trying to convey something in their expression.

 

Martyn places the knife down carefully. “I’m, um, just gonna go grab some… ice. It’s in the outside freezer.”

 

“No, wait-” Dan tries to say, panicking, but Martyn is already scurrying out of the room. “Fuck.”

 

He’s alone. With Phil. Oh God, how’s he going to explain himself, this was a stupid, stupid idea-

 

“What are you doing here, Dan?” Phil asks. It’s the question Dan dreaded, but Phil doesn’t sound angry. He sounds kind of sad.

 

“We always spend our birthdays together, Phil.” Dan says lamely, aware he sounds pathetic.

 

Phil opens his mouth to protest, but at that moment, Mrs Lester, wonderful, impeccably timed woman that she is, bustles back into the room. She pauses when she sees that he and Phil are alone.

 

“Oh- where’s Martyn gone?” She asks, her hands clasping together with awkwardness.

 

“To get ice.” Phil says, rolling his eyes as though he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Come on then, let’s do the cake.”

 

Phil’s mum relaxes a little as Phil walks over to the table and picks up the knife. He cuts two more slices, then pauses, eyes flicking to Dan.

 

“So… I guess you want cake too?”

 

Dan quirks a smile. “Uhhh, _yeah_. It’s chocolate cake, Phil. Do you even know me at all?”

 

Phil, surprisingly, returns Dan’s smile, his eyes lighting up a little, making the gleam of his crown that much brighter. He cuts another slice, making it extra big.

 

“I’ll get some plates.” Dan hears Phil’s mum say, somewhere in the background.

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, he and Phil don’t get another opportunity to talk privately again, so Dan is off the hook for the time being. Nevertheless, he prepares a multitude of comebacks for if Phil calls him out on him turning up at his door.

 

_There was a huge spider in the flat so I had to burn it down and now I guess we’ll have to live here._

_I forgot to give you birthday beats._

_Your mum called after you hung up last night and told me to come over. Wink._

_I heard there was cake._

They won’t do much more than buy Dan a few moments of annoyed looks instead of further questioning, but it's something, at least.

 

The rest of the day consists of playing video games with Phil and Martyn (letting Phil win at Mario Kart since it was his birthday), eating cake, welcoming home Phil’s dad and dealing with further bewildered looks at his presence.

 

After all that, it’s basically time to go out for dinner. Dan spends ten minutes searching for his bag, and then, after finding it on the back of the bathroom door, heads upstairs to Phil’s room, where Phil is supposedly changing into nicer clothes.

 

He approaches the door with a little trepidation, knowing that he’s about to enter the place a thousand and one memories could cascade down on him at any moment, but then, his hand on the doorknob, he stops.

 

Phil’s talking to someone inside.

 

“But why is he here? Did he say?”

 

It’s Martyn’s voice, Dan recognises immediately, and his stomach plummets to his knees. They’re undoubtedly talking about him.

 

“I don’t know. No, not really.” Phil replies, sounding a little worn.

 

“Phil, you know I like Dan, I think he’s a cool guy, but you guys are _broken up._ ”

 

“Shh,” Phil hisses, “Mum and Dad-”

 

“Mum and Dad are not as oblivious as you seem to think.” Martyn interrupts, which makes Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

 

“Whatever. I don’t know why he’s here, I know we’re broken up. It’s not like I invited him!”

 

Wow, Dan thinks, feeling his stomach clench even tighter. That hurt.

 

“That’s my point!” Martyn argues. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

 

“You think everything about me and Dan is weird.” Phil protests, though Dan can tell his heart’s not in it. Martyn’s getting to him, like always. Phil laps up every word that falls out of his big brother’s mouth.

 

“Are you telling me that continuing to live and work closely with your very recent ex-boyfriend is completely normal?” Martyn asks, a little sassily, Dan thinks. Then his voice grows soft. Dan has to step a little closer to be able to hear him. “It’s suicidal, Phil. I can’t even imagine how painful all this must be. You’ve got to stop acting like this with him. You’ll never get over him if you don’t stop.”

 

Dan doesn’t realise he’s clenching his fists until he feels a sharp pain in his palms. He looks down, unfurling his fingers to see dark red, crescent-shaped indents where his nails have cut the skin.

 

Martyn can’t just say this stuff to Phil. He must know the influence he has over his brother. Phil’s going to listen to him and then, what, move out? Stop the SuperAmazingProject and all collaborations with Dan, just continue life as AmazingPhil, solo?

 

No, Dan thinks, teeth gritting. Martyn can’t do this, it’s not fair. He’s not even involved in the situation, he doesn’t have any right to intervene. Phil and Dan’s relationship is their business, and that’s the end of it.

 

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s opening the door. Phil and Martyn stand there, in the centre of the room, facing each other. When they hear Dan enter, they both look towards him, shocked.

 

“Oh, sorry.” Dan says, trying to sound as though he had no idea what he was walking in on. “Didn’t mean to-”

 

“It’s fine.” Phil says quickly. When Dan looks a little more closely at his face, he can tell Phil’s been crying. “Martyn, you need to go get ready. Our reservation’s for eight.”

 

Martyn looks at Phil exasperatedly, but Phil refuses to look back. Eventually, Martyn nods, sends Dan a strained, obviously forced smile, and leaves the room.

 

Dan opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what. He closes it again, reminding himself of a fish out of water.

 

“Actually, um, I’m gonna see if Mum and Dad are ready.” Phil says, his words tripping over themselves. He sniffs a little, and Dan suddenly wants to cry too. “Are you gonna change?” Dan nods, looking glum. Phil nods back. “Cool, so – be ready in five minutes?”

 

There’s a long pause then, and Dan wants so desperately to say something that will magically fix this, that will dry the tears on his best friend’s gorgeous face.

 

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“See you downstairs.” Phil says, and with that, hurries out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan’s shirt is a little creased and no matter how many jokes he cracks Phil’s parents still seem blindsided by his presence at the table, but all in all dinner at the Thai place Phil found is enjoyable. Phil’s parents order a bottle of Prosecco, which allows Dan to get pleasantly tipsy, and Phil too, if he’s not mistaken.

 

It takes around half an hour of the meal for the tension to completely dissipate, but eventually Phil relaxes at his side, starts snorting with laughter at Dan’s mildly inappropriate comments about their waitress giving Martyn ‘special attention’. By the third time she spills Prosecco on the older Lester brother, he and Phil are practically falling out of their chairs giggling.

 

Even Martyn doesn’t seem to mind going along with the easy banter now that he can see Phil is enjoying himself. Dan is relieved, because he’s always liked Martyn, who is essentially just a slightly less crazy version of Phil. He teases Martyn about his new, very clumsy girlfriend and Martyn whips out a few decent comebacks, all of which impress Dan, though not as much as Phil’s do.

 

Another bottle is ordered somewhere down the line, and somehow he and Phil end up making fortune tellers out of their napkins and testing it on Phil’s whole family. Phil’s Dad is destined to become a travelling circus acrobat, apparently, which seems like the most hilarious thing in the world at the time.

 

At one point, Dan catches Phil’s mum watching him and Phil with a disassociated yet interested look. She studies them with her chin in one hand, a vague smile on her lips, but a clear question in her mind, as though she can’t quite figure them out.

 

Dan turns his attention to Phil, who looks stunning tonight, as is expected. He’s full of laughter now, tossing his fringe out of his eyes as his fingers come up to cover his grin. The dark, patterned shirt he’s wearing is gorgeous on him, illuminating those machine gun eyes, paling him even further, but he looks beautiful.

 

Dan’s trousers tighten, and he realises he’s biting his lip. He stops his thoughts in their tracks, blushing when he remembers where he is, and that he absolutely cannot behave like this in front of Phil’s _family_ for crying out loud.

 

Phil glances across at him and smiles; Dan all but melts under the attention. He can’t remember seeing this much warmth behind Phil’s eyes since before they…

 

He sighs, turning his attention back to his almost empty wine glass.

 

“Oh-oh! Dan’s running low,” Phil exclaims, grinning as he swipes the glass out of Dan’s fingers, “top up time.”

 

Dan feels the ghost of Phil’s skin against his for the next ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gosh, I’m exhausted!” Phil’s mum declares once they stumble through the front door again. “I think I’m going to have to head straight for bed!”

 

“Mum’s a lightweight.” Martyn stage-whispers to Dan and Phil, winking exaggeratedly. Phil’s mum tuts and whacks him on the arm, smiling.

 

“Naughty.” She scolds, but there’s nothing behind it. “You boys ought to get to bed too.”

 

By the time she reaches the end of her sentence, she’s blushing, and Dan can’t work out why until he catches her eye, and is reminded of everything.

 

“We will, mum.” Phil assures her, bending down to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight.”

 

“Night, Philly.” She says, patting his face. “Happy birthday.” She turns to the stairs then, following her husband up them as she mutters: “Twenty-five, I don’t understand it…”

 

“Night mum!” Martyn calls.

 

“Goodnight, Phil’s mum!” Dan calls afterwards, sending Phil into an immediate giggling fit.

 

“You guys are so weird.” Martyn says, rolling his eyes as they lean on each other for support due to their giggling. “I’m gonna head to bed too, I think.”

 

“Yeah, do.” Phil says through his laughter. “I’m sick of your face.”

 

“Wow, rude,” Martyn replies, laughing. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday or I’d bust you up.”

 

“You’d have to get through me.” Dan declares, stepping in front of Phil suddenly, hands held aloft in a fighting stance.

 

There’s a brief interlude wherein he and Martyn have a mimed stage-battle lasting a good thirty seconds. (Dan wins when he reaches behind himself to grab the lightsaber Phil hands him, sound effects provided, and stabs Martyn through the heart).

 

“Okay, okay,” Martyn cries from where he’s fallen to the ground, laughing, “enough, I’m going to bed.”

 

He clambers up, helped by Phil, and grasps hold of his arm for a moment, looking into his eyes. For a moment, Dan is all but forgotten, and all he sees in front of him are two kid brothers, an unspoken connection between them, born of siblinghood. Dan knows this connection; he has one with his brother, too.

 

“Are you guys okay?” Martyn asks softly; Dan knows instinctively that this question is in no way aimed at him.

 

Phil nods, still smiling drunkenly, but apparently sincere. “Yeah. Night, bro.”

 

“Night, old man.” Martyn says, letting go of Phil and heading for the stairs.

 

Dan waves as he ascends, then turns to Phil. Now that they’re alone, every thought, every urge he’s been suppressing all evening falls down on him in an avalanche of want, of _need_ for this boy before him, gazing into his eyes like they hold newly discovered galaxies.

 

“Phil?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What time is it?”

 

Phil looks unsurely down at his wristwatch, apparently having a little trouble focusing on it. “It’s ten fifty-two.”

 

“Still your birthday.”

 

Phil hiccups. “Yep.”

 

They stand awkwardly for a moment, Dan’s eyes roving over the slender form that makes up his inhumanly beautiful best friend. That shirt he’s wearing must be new, Dan’s never seen it before. It hugs him in all the right places; his buttons strain where it covers his broad chest. It clings to his waist and shoulders.

 

Dan realises he’s basically ogling Phil by this point, but he can’t seem to stop. Perhaps he’s tipsier than he thought.

 

“Phil?” Dan whispers, terrified to ask what he knows, deep down, he came here to ask, but knowing that he will anyway.

 

“Yes?” Phil answers, too quickly. Their eyes meet; Dan just knows that Phil is expecting this question. He’s probably known since the other day when Dan cornered him in the kitchen.

 

“Do you want to go to bed?”

 

Phil nods, swallowing a little, his cheeks flushing. His eyes are cast downwards, and he looks a little like he’s giving in rather than totally agreeing, but then his hand is in Dan’s, and Dan’s being pulled towards the stairs, and then they’re in Phil’s room somehow, Uma Thurman watching yet again as Phil shuts the door behind them, grabs hold of Dan by the back of the head and kisses him, long and slow, as though he’s been drowning and is only now able to breathe.

 

“I’m probably going to be angry with you in the morning.” Phil mumbles into his mouth, barely intelligible. Dan finds it hard to focus on the words; he’s too lost in the sensation of Phil’s big, strong hands holding his head in place, of those long, pale fingers winding into his hair.

 

When the words sink in, Dan feels them scold him a little, but he tries to ignore it. Tomorrow doesn’t matter; what’s important is right now. And right now Phil’s tongue is sweeping over his lip, right now Phil’s fingers are trickling down his neck, gripping at his collar.

 

“I don’t care.” Dan gasps out, suddenly realising that his own hands could be touching Phil; he rectifies the situation at once, winding his arms around Phil’s shoulders, pulling himself inwards, pressed against Phil’s chest.

 

“Is this my present?” Phil asks, and Dan can tell he’s smiling.

 

Dan bites at Phil’s lower lip lightly, then pulls back a little to stare into his eyes. “Yes.” He says, keeping his voice low. “Whatever you want to do to me. It’s your birthday.”

 

It’s all Dan’s cock needs to swell into hardness when Phil shudders in his grip.

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Suddenly, as though the world gives way underneath him, Dan is in the air, his feet no longer on the ground. He flails for a moment, before realising that one of Phil’s arms is hooked under his knees, and the other braces his back; Phil is carrying him like a bride over a threshold, and in that moment, nothing could be more incredible.

 

Phil throws him down on the bed unceremoniously, all the butterflies Dan felt when he realised Phil was carrying him consumed in the white hot burst of flame that ignites in his stomach as soon as Phil unbuttons his own shirt and crawls on top of him.

 

“I like this idea.” Phil says, finding Dan’s wrists and gripping them in each hand before pulling them up over his head. In seconds, Phil has him pinned against the duvet, straddling his waist. “You’re right, it’s my birthday. I get to do whatever I want.”

 

This time, it’s Dan’s turn to shudder. Phil presses his hips forwards, grinding into Dan a little roughly, making him moan. In moments, Phil’s lips are on his neck, and the sensation of it after so long is spectacular; Dan can feel the blood rushing south, towards his groin, he hears his own cries of pleasure before he knows that he consciously makes them.

 

Phil kisses him without a breath, not concerned with something as trivial as air right now. Dan tries to mimic his ferocity, but in truth he’s having trouble keeping up. Phil must be working out some pent up urges here, he thinks, smirking to himself, then being quickly shut up by Phil’s hips pressing forwards again, knocking the air out of his lungs.

 

“I’ve got an idea…” Phil says into Dan’s mouth. “Why don’t we finish what you started last night?”

 

Dan’s eyes fly open, and Phil breaks away from him abruptly, grinning. Dan can feel the blush rising to his cheeks.

 

“You mean…” Dan says, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart.

 

“You know what I’m like with my big, clumsy hands.” Phil says, his cerulean eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t wanna rip your pretty shirt. Why don’t I just sit here…” Phil untangles himself from Dan, scooting up the bed until his back is against his headboard, legs crossed. “And you can take it off for me. You seemed to like doing that yesterday after all.”

 

Dan swallows; in the silence of the room it’s deafening. It is one thing to flirtatiously flash a bit of skin through a pixelated webcam, but it is quite another to strip completely naked in front of someone live.

 

“Um, I- I don’t know…” Dan starts to say, and Phil sticks his lower lip out in a pout.

 

“Aw, come on, Dan, please?” He whines, slipping on that ‘adorkable’ expression that he knows melts Dan’s heart. “It’s my birthday. You said.”

 

Fuck. He did say. There’s no way out.

 

Oh, Christ. At least he’s feeling a little tipsy still, Dan thinks to himself as he sighs, getting up on his knees in front of Phil, wobbling slightly. He brings his hands to the collar of his shirt, popping open the first button. God, he feels ridiculous already. 

 

Phil grins, settling back against his pillows to watch. “Want me to put some music on? I think Toxic by Britney Spears would go really well with this.”

 

“Fuck off.” Dan mumbles, cheeks heating even more.

 

He’s down to the fifth button of his shirt now, and his heart is beating to the rhythm of a Panic! At The Disco song. The flush on his cheeks is working its way down his neck and chest, he can feel it, and Christ that’s probably not sexy at all, all red and splotchy across his skin. Just don’t look Phil in the eye, Dan tells himself, it’ll be over soon. You only have a certain amount of clothes you can strip off.

 

Eighth button. He’s nearly opened his shirt all the way now. His bare skin is peeking through, still vaguely tanned from Italy all that time ago.

 

“Unngh,” Phil grunts, making Dan glance up at him. He’s watching with a reverent expression, a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to the bulge Dan can see beneath his trousers. “You’re so hot, Dan." Phil bites his lip, looking tortured. "It’s not fair.”

 

Dan huffs out a laugh at that. Phil chuckles too, and for a second they’re just regular Dan and Phil, being idiots together, and then Phil’s eyes drop to Dan’s chest.

 

“Take it off.” He says, his voice lower than usual.

 

Dan obliges, of course, going along with the birthday boy’s wishes like the Saint he is. His shirt was creased to begin with, so he doesn’t care that it scrunches up in his hands as he tugs it over his shoulders. When he throws it behind himself, he doesn’t see where it lands.

 

His eyes crawl back to Phil’s, obedient and expectant, waiting on his next command. God, Dan thinks to himself, he’s such a whore for this. He literally travelled all the way from their empty flat in Manchester to Phil’s bed just on the off-chance he might get to experience this.

 

Dan shudders, watching Phil drink him in, eyes roving over Dan’s newly naked skin. Who knows what he must be thinking. They haven’t seen each other naked in ages, after all. Maybe Dan’s changed in the past six months since they last did this.

 

“Now your jeans.” Phil instructs, and Dan’s hands fly to his own belt. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, mostly because he doesn’t own anything else.

 

His breaths are shallow and quick as he pulls the belt free, then he tackles the button and zip. He has to get up on his knees properly in order to do this, and then, on second thought, he decides to stand. He gets off the bed, Phil watching with wide eyes, and pushes the jeans over his hips, down his thighs, until they’re caught around his ankles.

 

He does an awkward, stumbly little dance wherein he attempts to get the jeans off of his feet without the use of his hands, and Phil giggles at him.

 

“Sorry, this is not- ah!” Dan trips a little, almost falling to the ground. Phil outright laughs at him. “This is not very sexy, I’d imagine.”

 

He manages, eventually, somehow, and then – clad in only his favourite boxer briefs – he crawls back onto the bed and directly into Phil’s lap.

 

Phil’s still giggling, but his breath catches once Dan’s on top of him, and the laughter ebbs away once Dan leans in to kiss him. After that, Phil is back to his predatory-self, and his hands grip at Dan’s waist, his fingers raking like branches over the prominent bones of his ribcage.

 

Dan gasps, and Phil takes the opportunity to wind his tongue into Dan’s mouth, which makes Dan shudder all the way down to his toes.

 

They kiss languorously, because they have all night, and though Dan might not necessarily admit it, he’s missed this. He’d bet that Phil has too.

 

After a while, Dan grinds his bum down into Phil’s lap, making the older boy moan and slide his hands down to grip Dan’s ass.

 

“Phil, what do you want?” Dan asks, trying to make his voice low and sultry like Phil’s gets, though he knows he probably succeeds only in sounding like a goose.

 

It doesn’t seem to put Phil off though.

 

“I…” Phil starts to say, but seems to get distracted by his own exploration of the roof of Dan’s mouth. Phil sucks a little on his tongue, and it’s such a peculiar sensation that Dan jumps a little, giggling. “Unngh, I just want your mouth.”

 

Two of Phil’s fingers are pressing against Dan’s lower lip, even as the kissing continues. Phil bites and sucks at him, tasting and teasing, seeming entranced by Dan’s orifice all of a sudden.

 

Dan breaks away after a while, smiling, his lips probably red and swollen already. “That can be arranged.”

 

Phil gulps, and then Dan is shimmying off him, pushing him back against the headboard with a firm shove in the chest before moving his attention to the tricky looking zipper on Phil’s trousers.

 

Phil’s shirt is already hanging open somehow, so Dan decides to just get rid of it, manoeuvring Phil as he pushes it off his broad shoulders. Phil is entirely unhelpful during this process, pawing and mouthing at every inch of Dan's bare skin he can reach but Dan ploughs on valiantly, trying hard to focus on his mission. He manages somehow, mostly by telling himself the result of his efforts will be a naked-er Phil, though he does feel a little like he’s going to explode.

 

After a few minutes, Dan manages to get Phil’s trousers off his legs, and after some quick deliberation, he removes the underwear too.

 

The first sight of Phil’s cock is a glorious one, as ever. It’s so flushed it could be glowing, huge and swollen with desire, so ready for release and they've barely even begun. He must have been turned on since dinner, possibly before, who knows? Dan tries to ignore the wash of relief that cascades over him when he sees the evidence that he is not the only one being driven mad with want in this situation. 

 

Dan's body aches just looking at the length of him. He wants so badly to touch, taste, feel. If he tries, he can just about remember the sensation of Phil’s cock thrusting inside of him, huge and forceful, pressing so deeply inside of him that Dan sometimes thought Phil might split him apart.

 

God, just the thought of Phil fucking him. Dan bites his lip, letting his own memories cloud his senses for a moment. Yeah, that's the thing he misses most of all.

 

But that’s what you gave up, Dan thinks, resigning himself. The last time they did this, Phil had outright said no when Dan asked if he’d wanted to do… that.

 

He’s damn sure not going to be the one to suggest it this time. If Phil wants that, he can ask. Dan will just sit here crossing his fingers.

 

Instead, Dan leans forwards, still on his knees, now in between Phil’s legs.

 

He tries to hold Phil’s gaze, feeling much more confident now that Phil is naked as well as him. Even more naked, in fact.

 

Phil’s pupils are blown wide, and he stares down at Dan with unrestrained lust burning brightly behind his eyes. With the green stripey wallpaper behind him like this, they could be back in 2009, thinks Dan giddily. He sticks out his tongue, yearning to taste Phil.

 

He starts by licking a circle around the head of Phil’s dick. Sure, it’s Phil’s birthday and he gets whatever he wants, but that doesn't mean Dan is going to deny himself the simple pleasures, such as collecting every last speck of precome that has leaked out of Phil’s cock so far on his tongue, letting the metallic flavour swim on his palette.

 

Phil groans quietly as Dan’s tongue makes its careful patterns over him; Dan’s eyes flick to Phil’s fist down by his hip. He’s gripping the covers tightly.

 

Without warning, Dan slides his mouth over Phil’s cock, taking as much as he can manage into his mouth, just like Phil wanted. Phil curses, which makes Dan smile a little, because it's a sound that only Dan gets to hear, and usually only in theses circumstances. This or Mario Kart, anyway. 

 

Dan’s mind had not been exaggerating when it remembered Phil as being big. Now, with his mouth stretched almost obscenely around the girth of him, Dan is very well reminded of just how huge his ex-boyfriend is, and how unfair it always was in terms of blowjobs for this reason. Phil has _deepthroated_ him before. He's taken Dan all the way down, right to the base. 

 

It had been fucking amazing. 

 

Unfairly, though, Dan literally doesn’t think he has enough throat to even attempt such a feat. Though he’d love to, in theory. He bobs his head up and down in thought, wondering if he could try it now. More tongue, he tells himself as he works his mouth over the shaft, Phil likes lots of flicky tongue. Phil has his hands in Dan’s hair, tugging and squeezing, curse words falling like raindrops from his lips.

 

A stray thought bursts into Dan’s brain; breakfast tomorrow morning with the Lesters, him being unable to speak due to the soreness of his throat thanks to the fact he drunkenly tried to deepthroat Phil’s fucking enormous-

 

“Ugh, Dan, fuck I’m going to-”

 

Dan pulls off to the sound of Phil’s agonised cries. He leans up and kisses Phil hard on the mouth, making sure to slip some tongue in so that Phil can taste himself; it’s filthy, Dan knows, but he also knows what Phil likes, and it’s stuff like this that drives him fucking crazy.

 

He breaks the kiss, leaning back just enough, so he’s caught in Phil’s eyeline. He winks, smirking, then ducks back down to envelop Phil’s cock again, sucking hard this time, moving with double speed because Phil is close, and this is his birthday, and Dan needs to make this incredible.

 

The better he makes this, the less angry Phil will be tomorrow, thinks Dan as Phil starts to convulse and shudder beneath him.

 

“Dan… oh, oh, _oh…_ ” Phil cries out, eyes screwing shut. “Unngh, fuck, _Dan_.”

 

He comes hard, and Dan makes sure he’s there to catch every last drop of it, drinking it as though it’s water and he’s a parched, dying man in a desert. Phil tastes so fucking _good,_ all warm and salty, pouring down his throat.

 

Dan doesn’t realise he’s moaning as he swallows until Phil quietens down a bit, and he hears himself.

 

He pulls off of Phil, a little embarrassed by how turned on he is. Phil reaches for him with weary grabby hands. Dan chuckles and kind of falls towards him, their chests sticking together a little because that was a strenuous little workout they just had.

 

For a while, Phil just pants into Dan’s hair, holding them tightly together, catching his breath. Then, before Dan has even fully recovered from that ordeal, Phil is tilting his face up and kissing him. The taste of Phil’s spendings is heavy and present between their mouths, but if anything it just makes everything hotter.

 

Phil rolls Dan onto his back and starts kissing at his neck, teeth scraping in places because he must know how much Dan loves it. Dan clutches at Phil and moans, feeling every touch of Phil’s lips against his throat reverberate in his thighs and groin, pumping precome out of him at an alarming rate. He’s soaking through his boxer briefs and Phil hasn’t even touched him.

 

“Do you have any lube?” Phil murmurs against Dan’s neck, and Dan’s heart stops momentarily.

 

Did he hear that right?

 

“L-lube?” Dan repeats, checking.

 

“Uh-huh.” Phil confirms, busily sucking a nice, noticeable mark into Dan’s collarbone, the asshole.

 

Dan’s annoying brain immediately makes plans to buy that expensive cover up again before his next video. He tries to tell his mind to shut the fuck up.

 

“Um, yeah actually.” Dan mumbles, blushing again. He sits up and Phil lets him, chuckling at him because he looks so bewildered.

 

God, he’s so turned on he can’t think straight, Dan realises, blinking at his surroundings with moderate confusion. Lube… where the heck was it again?

 

Oh, right, it fell out on the bus…

 

“Oh, God…” Dan mutters, remembering. The humiliation washes over him again, a fresh wave.

 

Phil laughs. “What?”

 

Dan’s eyes dart to his, nervously. No way is he telling Phil about the awkwardness of that situation right now. “Nothing.” What happened after it fell out? A guy handed it back to him and… oh yeah. He put it in his pocket. “It’s in my jacket.”

 

Dan gets off the bed clumsily, very aware he could easily fall to the floor any moment with how dizzy he’s currently feeling. While he's up, he decides it's probably a good idea to remove his underwear too, so he shimmies out of it as quickly and as efficiently as possible. He blushes a great deal, but he doesn't turn around to garner Phil's reaction. That's too embarrassing. 

 

He feels around in the darkness, edging over towards the back of Phil’s door, where he knows his jacket is hanging up. He gets there eventually, the familiar stiff fabric feeling like bliss beneath his searching fingers. He digs methodically in each of the pockets, cursing under his breath because this is taking too long damn it, and Phil is naked behind him, and if he’s out of Phil’s proximity for too long right now, he’ll overthink this and ruin everything.

 

He tries to focus instead on the stern, frowning face of Uma Thurman on the other side of this very door, probably cursing under her breath, too.

 

 _“Naked in here again, Dan?”_ He imagines Uma saying, the reflection of her rolling eyes glinting off of her samurai sword.  _“Don’t you have anything better to do than shamelessly throw yourself at the guy you’ve fangirled over for almost four years?”_

 

Dan flushes hotly, still digging. It’s ridiculous to get embarrassed by Uma’s accusations, because they are literally _in his mind_. Beatrix Kiddo would never say something as ridiculous as ‘fangirling’.

 

It doesn’t seem to quiet the blush though.

 

At last his fingers fight through the forest of receipts and bus tickets clogging his pockets and grasp hold of the tiny bottle. He pulls it free and whirls around on the spot, holding it up triumphantly for Phil to see.

 

It takes Phil a few seconds to even notice what Dan is holding out to him. His gaze is fixated at Dan's crotch level, and it's only after a few drawn out seconds that he tears his gaze away, blinking up at the bottle Dan clutched in Dan's hand. Dan smirks to himself, then walks towards him, clambering back on the bed.

 

Phil draws him close, gathering him up in his arms and pulling him in until their faces almost touch. Their legs tangle together, the short, sparse hairs brushing against each other as they move. Dan doesn’t realise he’s shivering until Phil starts tracing along the goosebumps covering his arms.

 

It must be cold in here; Dan hadn’t even noticed.

 

“That was a nice view.” Phil says, leaning in to kiss him again, which makes Dan squeak a bit for some reason. It’s so strange now, to have Phil just kissing him without warning, after all the months of strenuously avoiding it. “I think you should turn over again.”

 

Dan chokes around a half-laugh, kind of shocked by Phil’s brazen request for him to roll over just so he can continue staring at his ass. Well, it’s not like he has much of a choice here, Dan thinks to himself, leaning up a little, attempting to unwind himself from Phil's embrace. It’s Phil’s birthday, not his.

 

He turns onto his stomach carefully, leant up on his elbows. His cheeks are still flamed, his cock is still achingly hard. He presses it into the mattress a little, desperate for some sort of friction. He stops when Phil whacks a hand down on his bare ass, hard enough that it stings.

 

“Ow! Fucking hell, Phil!”

 

Phil laughs at him. “Sorry. But don’t do that.”

 

Dan groans, ducking his head so it hits the duvet. “Why?”

 

“Because I wanna get you off, and it’s my birthday so you have to do what I say.”

 

Dan stays quiet, trying hard to be obedient, though every cell in his body is screaming at him to thrust his hips forwards again, to bring himself to the edge and then tip over into the freefall. It would be so easy, it would only take a minute…

 

Phil’s hand slides over Dan’s back, dipping into the curve at the base of his spine and then pushing up, over Dan’s buttocks. He squeezes the flesh there and Dan nearly jumps out of his skin; he had no idea that area would be so sensitive. It feels like Phil just squeezed a bundle of raw nerves. 

 

Phil continues squeezing, kneading his cheeks like dough, and Dan just groans through it, cursing when Phil gets his other hand involved.

 

“Fuck, Phil…” Dan pants out, hands starting to grip at the covers. “Your- your _hands…_ ”

 

They're so big, that's what Dan means to say. Big, strong and somehow still incredibly soft. Dan misses these hands every damn day.

 

Dan doesn’t even remember relinquishing his hold on the lube, but he must have done at some point because the next thing he knows, Phil is taking one hand away, and then it’s back, but covered in thick, slippery gel.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Dan cries out, biting his lip.

 

Is Phil gonna fuck him? Is that actually going to happen? Christ, Dan isn’t sure he can take it. He feels raw, like a tightly wound rope, fraying at the edges, about to snap.

 

Phil doesn’t say a lot, he mostly just whispers words of encouragement, low and breathy, difficult to make out if Dan wasn’t straining to listen – but of course he is.

 

Two of Phil’s fingers slip between Dan’s cheeks, swiping teasingly over his hole, sending a quick jolt of pleasure through him, making his toes curl.

 

“Uh, Phil, please…” Dan garbles out, feeling the beads of sweat begin to pearl on his brow, curling the hairs of his fringe.

 

The fingers circle him for what seems like an age, while Dan begs and pleads with Phil to just _do it_ , it’s been so long and Dan is so impatient, Phil has always known that, and-

 

When the first finger pushes into him, Dan gasps loudly, his back arching off the bed. It burns some, more than he remembers, but that’s probably because it’s been a while since he’s had anything up there at all, aside from his own fingers, occasionally.

 

Honestly, he doesn’t even do that very often, because no matter how hard he tries, it never compares to Phil.

 

The burn gives way to a shuddering, indescribable bliss, as always, especially as Phil begins to move his finger, pushing it slowly in and out, his other hand smoothing over Dan’s bare back.

 

“You okay?” Phil murmurs, and Dan just moans in response, hoping it sounds like an affirmative noise.

 

Phil seems to be fairly happy with it, because he adds a second finger then, burying both right up to the base knuckle. Dan hisses and shivers, his cock begging him to touch it, to move, _anything,_ and then Phil begins to scissor him.

 

He takes his time, and Dan had forgotten how Phil’s meticulous, slow preparation always used to drive him crazy, to turn him into a gibbering mess before they’d even get to the main event. He remembers now, though. Phil speeds up a little, his fingers pumping in and out of Dan in a steady rhythm.

 

Dan just isn’t prepared for it when Phil crooks his fingers just that little bit, seeming to know exactly where and how, even after all this time; Dan swears loudly, too loudly, because Phil has found that spot inside of him, and Phil claps a hand over his mouth, giggling.

 

Right, right, Dan thinks hazily, he’s in Phil’s parents’ house. He can’t be loud here. But God, that feeling – he’d almost forgotten. It’s akin to a comet firing itself through his veins, blazing a trail of white hot pleasure, scoring him from the inside out, all from just one clever movement of Phil’s fingers.

 

Phil adds a third finger, and by this point Dan is trembling. His eyes alternate from being screwed shut and rolling back into his head. Phil is relentless, his fingers ploughing into Dan so roughly now that it jolts his entire body, has him clinging on to the sheets of Phil’s bed for safety.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Phil,_ ” Dan chants in time with Phil's movements, voice slightly muffled by Phil’s fingers pressed against his mouth; he hopes he’s getting across how fucking amazing this is through his gibberish alone.

 

“I’m not gonna fuck you, Dan.” Phil intones, and even though the words disappoint him, Phil’s voice alone almost tips him over the edge. “Think you can get off just from this?”

 

“Ohh,” is all Dan can manage in response.

 

He can damn well try, he thinks to himself.

 

Phil adjusts his fingers again, brushing over that place inside of Dan that fires off entire comet showers, and he just keeps angling for it, Dan moaning and falling apart beneath him.

 

Oh, fuck, Dan thinks to himself, he really is going to come. He grinds himself against the mattress, hoping Phil won’t tell him off for it again; luckily he seems too preoccupied.

 

His fingers thrust hard and fast into Dan now, and Dan doesn’t realise he’s biting at Phil’s fingers until he hears Phil hiss a little in pain. He doesn’t stop though.

 

Dan thrusts his hips forwards a couple more times and he feels himself getting close. He tries to warn Phil of it, to say anything, but Phil’s fingers are somehow in his mouth and he can’t get the words out anyway.

 

When he comes, he sees atoms burst, he skims the rings of Jupiter with his bare skin, tastes the clouds as they fizz with lightning.

 

He makes a serious mess of Phil’s bed.

 

After a long time wherein Dan is convinced he will never descend from the astral realm he’s been transported to, Phil rolls him over gently, peppers kisses across his chest.

 

Dan spasms under each press of Phil’s lips, feeling more oversensitised than ever. Phil gathers him close, and all Dan can think about is that he must be sticky and damp and gross to hold right now, and he probably doesn’t even look attractive. His fringe is probably stuck to his forehead and he’ll be all red and puffy.

 

But Phil lays next to him and stares at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world, and it’s kind of exhilarating, but kind of terrifying if he thinks about what it means.

 

How can Dan be expected to give this up?

 

He knows he had his reasons, but this… this is the kind of thing people search for their whole lives, right? Hot, amazing, earth-shattering sex with a person that adores him, with someone Dan feels so deeply connected to that he can’t even break up with them properly. Instead, he opted for a half break-up, where they torture themselves constantly by being so tauntingly within arms reach of each other, pretending for the cameras like everything is fine, when it's kind of tearing them apart.

 

“Phil?” Dan says eventually, chewing his lip.

 

Phil’s hand is stroking over his hair. Dan kind of wants him to stop, because the tenderness in Phil’s touch is making him want to cry.

 

He doesn’t know if it’s the tiredness, the alcohol or the adrenaline rush that’s making him say this – perhaps it’s a mixture of the three, topped with the terrifying thought that this might never happen again if he doesn’t do something about it.

 

“Yeah?” Phil replies, his voice softer now.

 

“What if we…” Dan hesitates, eyes flicking over Phil’s calm, serene expression, wondering how best to pose this idea. “What if, like, we make this a… thing?”

 

A crease forms in between Phil’s eyebrows. Dan wants to run the pads of his fingers across it, but he doesn’t.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Like, what if on our birthdays…” Dan starts, and the crease smooths itself out, Phil’s expression morphing into a dawning of understanding. “We could have a… a… rule, say.”

 

“A rule?” Phil asks, sounding ridiculously sceptical.

 

“Yeah.” Dan confirms, not willing to dismiss this idea from his head just yet. “Phil, I miss this so much. I miss being with you like this. I know we broke up and I still think we shouldn’t… get together again properly. I think our lives are way too complicated for that but…”

 

“But what?” Phil asks, and uh-oh, he sounds angry. “You want me as a fuck buddy instead?”

 

Phil draws his hands away from Dan, and Dan knows he has seconds before Phil shuts down completely, before he turns over and huffs an annoyed ‘goodnight’, the evening effectively spoiled.

 

“No. No, that’s not-” Dan pauses, taking a deep breath so that he doesn’t trip up over his wording and ruin everything. “I know you miss this. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that since the break-up we’ve both been… frustrated. We don’t date or see other people – it’s just us, alone, constantly reminded of how the other person feels and tastes and sounds…”

 

Dan trails off; Phil isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s staring off into the distance. Dan wishes he could read Phil’s mad, beautiful mind for the thousandth time. He decides to persevere.

 

“I’m just proposing an idea here.” Dan states, trying to sound business-like even though he’s shitting himself, and naked, and discussing what can basically be described as a sex treaty with his best friend. “Birthday sex.”

 

Phil’s eyes swivel back to his, entranced by that phrase, apparently.

 

“Birthday sex?”

 

Dan chuckles at the wording, even though he came up with it. Phil laughs too, both of them tickled by how it sounds.

 

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, snuggling a little closer to Phil now that they’ve managed to move past the awkward stage. “Our birthdays are pretty evenly spaced out so it’s basically twice a year. I think it’d help us.”

 

Phil, still laughing, pushes Dan lightly in the shoulder. “Oh, do you?”

 

“I honestly do!” Dan says through his own laughter, shoving Phil back. “We’re so miserable right now. Think of how good it would be to just have like a… a release every six months or so-”

 

“A release?” Phil repeats, having to bury his face in the duvet to hide his laughter. “Please stop.”

 

Dan groans at him, shaking him by the shoulder. Eventually, Phil peers up at him again, smiling. “I’m serious, Phil.”

 

“You have to see what a terrible plan this is.” Phil says, eyebrows raised.

 

Dan opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. He can’t really defend the plan too strongly. Release or not, it’s probably going to end in disaster, let’s face it. But Dan can’t bring himself to care, not when he’ll get something so incredible out of it.

 

He shrugs. “Maybe. I do think it’s better than going on as we are though.”

 

Phil seems to actually consider this argument, which baffles and astounds Dan, but he holds his breath just in case.

 

“To be honest…” Phil starts to say. “I think that even if I said no, if you tried it on with me on your next birthday I’d probably give in.”

 

Dan grins at him. “Am I that irresistible?”

 

Phil blushes a little, looking away. “Yeah.”

 

Dan forces out some laughter in order to steer the conversation out of the dangerous, heavily wooded area of ‘feelings’ and back onto the straight, narrow path of safe, uncomplicated sex.

 

“Soooo, is that a yes?”

 

Phil’s eyes flick to his, and Dan wants to kiss him when he sees that mischievous little glint sparkling off his big blue irises. “Yeah, why not.”

 

“What’s the worst that could happen, right?” Dan asks, leaning over to kiss Phil for the last time.

 

Well, the last time until June 11th, that is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> AmazingPhil tweets about booking a Thai restaurant for his birthday.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2012), "Just booked birthday meal at a Thai restaurant! they have deep fried coconut ice cream o.o *drools on keyboard*" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/162622817555329025.
> 
> AmazingPhil tweets about being at his parents' house on his birthday.  
> -AmazingPhil (2012), "In the car back to parents house for birthday tomorrow! ^_^" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/163665129651703808.


	3. Dan's Twenty-First Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegas, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, know that this chapter is a little more fictitious than usual. That is to say that the timelines are off, and there is little to no information on what actually happened on Dan's 21st, let alone what happened in Vegas 2012. 
> 
> I do know that Dan Howell did not, in fact, spend his actual birthday (June 11th, 2012) in Vegas, and that the dates for the trip were actually a week or so afterwards. However, for entertainment purposes, I have decided to pull the dates forwards using my poetic license, and create a fictitious, hopefully fun Vegas chapter. 
> 
> I hope you'll overlook my decision, and that it doesn't spoil the illusion, haha. 
> 
> Much love, hope you're enjoying it so far!

11th June, 2012 (Dan is 21) 

There are twinkling lights spattered across the ceiling, walls and floor, and every surface seems to be coated an inch thick with glitter. The enormous room is a rich, luxurious gold, dazzling in its opulence. A domed, brightly lit ceiling arches overhead, surrounded by chandeliers so magnificent it hurts to look directly at them.

 

Echoing all around is the practically deafening sound of coins clinking into slot machines, alongside the frequent, rough crank of levers and artificial ‘brrring!’ noises that signify a jackpot, however small.

 

The senses are so overwhelmed in this place that it’s virtually impossible to concentrate on any one thing, but Phil is managing to block it out. He sits at a semi-circular, fancy looking bar, and even though there are mini screens embedded into the counter so that customers don’t have to go one second without gambling if they don’t want to, Phil has all of his attention fixed on the boy beside him, shouting their drinks order at the smartly dressed bartender.

 

Dan has insisted on cocktails, which is fair enough as it’s his birthday.

 

Dan, the now 21-year-old. Dan, who looks as incredible as Phil has ever seen him in a tight white shirt and his most fitted jeans. Dan, whose hair has curled slightly at the temples due to the muggy Nevada air, despite his best straightening efforts. Dan, who insisted on them drinking two of the mini liqueurs out of the mini bar in their room before coming down here ‘because it’s his birthday and he’s allowed’.

 

Dan, who keeps turning around to look at him with a glint in his eyes that makes Phil’s knees feel like they can’t support his weight anymore. Dan, who is all too aware of the fact that it’s his birthday and – for them – that means one very specific thing.

 

Phil watches the bartender making their cocktails, trying to be impressed by the flair with which he prepares the ingredients. He does all sorts with them, shaking and twisting and throwing them up in the air – it’s honestly amazing, there’s no way the guy got a job as a bartender at Caesar’s Palace by chance – but Phil can’t seem to concentrate on anything but Dan’s profile, and his stomach flutters nervously, knowing what’s to come.

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps predictably, following Phil’s birthday when they’d made their little ‘arrangement’, things were a little awkward. Phil has never been good at the separating sex and emotions thing, so when he’d woken up the morning after he and Dan had slept together again and Dan hadn’t been beside him, he had been a little upset.

 

Then again, as he told himself at the time, he only had himself to blame. He’d known it was a terrible idea, and he’d known he’d pay for it if he gave in to Dan’s persuasions. So he’d sighed, got up, gone downstairs and had breakfast with Dan and his family, already seated around the kitchen table, trying to pretend with all his might like he hadn’t spent the night with Dan underneath him, sweaty and naked and begging to get Phil off.

 

Honestly, until Dan brought it up about a week later, Phil was almost certain he’d imagined the entire conversation about ‘Birthday Sex’.

 

“Do you think jet lag will affect your sex drive?” Dan asked him one morning as Phil was spreading peanut butter onto his toast.

 

He dropped the knife he was holding, sending it clattering to the kitchen floor, specking the linoleum with peanut buttery flecks. His cheeks burned. He told himself to get a goddamn grip. Just hearing Dan _mention_ sex was apparently enough to reduce him to a stuttering fool.

 

“Um,” Phil said eloquently, turning around to see Dan bending over to get the knife for him. He looked determinedly away from the ass pointing towards him, Dan’s pyjama bottoms slipping down as usual, showcasing his tight Calvin Klein’s. “What- what d’you…” Phil tried to say as Dan stood up, handing him the knife and giving him a weird look. “Why?”

 

“Just wondering.” Dan shrugged, clearly trying to look casual. Phil saw right through it, of course. It was clear that Dan had something playing on his mind.

 

Phil realised he was still holding the knife out in front of him, and he turned quickly, moving across the kitchen in lightning speed to throw it into the sink. He felt his sock sticking to some peanut butter on the floor as he went. Nice.

 

“I’m probably not… the best person to ask to be honest.” Phil said, trying to sound light-hearted, adding what he hoped was a carefree chuckle to the end of his statement as he turned back to his toast.

 

He sighed as he bit into a slice. He’s not a huge fan of toast in the mornings – to him it just doesn’t fit into the ‘breakfast food’ category. They were out of cereal though, again. For… no particular reason.

 

“Why’s that?” Dan asked him, leaning against the opposite counter. Phil shifted awkwardly under the intensity of Dan’s gaze.

 

Phil blushed again, wondering if Dan knew how uncomfortable this conversation was making him considering the thing they did together just a week prior.

 

“Um, because next time we travel somewhere…” Phil paused, swallowing his toast. “I doubt I’ll be needing to test out the sex drive, if you know what I mean.”

 

Phil couldn’t even meet Dan’s eyes by this point. He tried to work out how he got from making some toast to talking about his sex drive with Dan at 10am on a Monday morning.

 

“Okay, point taken.” Dan said, sounding a little uncomfortable. Phil looked up at him again, relieved that this conversation might be over, but instead he just found Dan’s mouth opening and closing, like he was wrestling with his mind, debating whether, or how, to say something. “But like… the reason I ask…”

 

Oh, here we go, thought Phil, abandoning his toast now, brushing the crumbs off his t-shirt.

 

“My next birthday.” Dan blurted, eyes widening as if he’s well aware of the connotations of that simple statement. He ploughed on regardless, seeming to choose to ignore the sudden rigidity of Phil’s shoulders and the fear in his eyes. “I’ll be twenty-one.” Phil nodded, carefully, suddenly terrified of where this was going. Flashbacks of Dan, naked in his childhood bed, attacked him from all sides, reminding him of the drunken pact the two of them made in a post-coitus blur of spooning and lazy, desperate kisses. “What if we went to Vegas?”

 

For a moment, Phil had no idea how to react. On one hand, he was extremely relieved that Dan didn’t directly address the ‘Birthday Sex’ arrangement just yet, as he was not sure he could handle it this soon.

 

As well as this, he reasoned, he loves Vegas, he’d been there once before, and if Dan is going to be twenty-one, then this would be a really good time for them to go. The two of them could have a really fun time together probably, considering they are supposedly best friends. Things are still tense, sure, but they did everything together anyway, and if they drink enough that Phil forgets the heartbreak and severe agony he’s in 24/7, then they’ll probably have a great holiday.

 

At that moment, Phil couldn’t see any issues with the plan. It’d be expensive, sure, but that’s what lost weekends in Vegas are all about, right? And what with the upcoming prospects of Radio 1 shows and the rate at which their popularity is skyrocketing on YouTube, Phil was pretty sure the money wouldn’t be too much of an issue.

 

“Phil?” Dan prompted, sounding concerned. His best friend was waving a hand in front of his face, probably indicating that Phil had been spaced out for a few minutes as he debated all of this in his mind. “Helloo? What do you think?”

 

“J-just you and me?” Phil asked suddenly, making Dan jump a little, removing his hand.

 

He blushed a little, one of his arms wrapping around his own waist. “Yeah. We both know we don’t have any other friends, Phil.”

 

Dan tried to laugh it off with this old joke of theirs, but Phil didn’t break. “Dan.”

 

“Yes, of course, Phil. Just you and me.” Dan confirmed after a moment, rolling his eyes. “Do you think I’d want anyone else there? You’re my best friend.” He paused for a second, glancing up at Phil. “Plus…”

 

He seemed to trail off, and Phil frowned, confused. “Plus what?”

 

Dan looked down at the ground, and for a moment Phil was convinced he was smirking to himself. Suddenly, Dan started towards him, getting extremely close. He was definitely smirking now.

 

One of Dan’s arms reached around Phil’s waist, and Phil felt himself stop breathing. It was an involuntary response. Dan’s face was so close, it was practically as close as it was back in Phil’s dark bedroom in Rossendale when they-

 

“Plus, it’ll be my birthday.” Dan said, his voice low and breathy. “I don’t think anyone else would be as understanding as you about our… arrangement. Do you?” Before Phil could do anything except stare in shock, Dan was leaning away from him, stepping back. In his left hand he held one of Phil’s slices of toast. He bit into it with such a satisfied grin that Phil kind of wanted to kick him.

 

Dan left the room with a slight sway in his hips, leaving Phil reeling in the aftermath of what was just said. He turned to stare down at the half eaten slice of toast left on his plate. He pushed it away, turning to the sink. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude, your one looks like it’s going to give you diabetes.” Dan says, chuckling as he hands a tall glass of bright blue and red liquid to Phil.

 

There’s a lime green cocktail stick poked into it, along with crushed ice, mint leaves and a curly rind of some fruit that Phil might say was an orange if it wasn’t purple.

 

He takes a sip, and practically feels his own pupils dilating. “Oh my God.”

 

Dan giggles at his reaction, then takes a sip of his own cocktail. Dan’s gone for a classier looking drink, the colour of honey. His has no cocktail stick, but it still looks pretty damn tasty.

 

“Mmm, this is orgasmic.” Dan says, his eyes rolling back into his head. Phil’s cheeks heat at Dan’s choice of words, and for the millionth time he wishes Dan wasn’t able to do that to him so easily.

 

“Wh-what did you get?” Phil asks, proud that his voice only wavers a little.

 

Dan grins, locking eyes with him as he takes another sip. “A ‘Between The Sheets’.”

 

Phil blushes even more, choosing to divert his attention to his own delicious drink rather than deal with the flirtatious look on Dan’s face just yet. He needs another few cocktails in him before he can quiet his nerves enough for all that.

 

He must be pretty obvious in his reaction though because Dan immediately starts laughing at him, shoving him in the shoulder and telling him he’s a prude.

 

“Did you have to get the one with the dirtiest sounding name?” Phil complains, trying to be cross that Dan is teasing him but failing because he’s so adorable and he’s gorgeous and tipsy and they’re in fucking _Vegas_ and Phil knows with absolute certainty that he’ll get to touch Dan later. To kiss him and taste him and grind into him until they’re both whimpering and shaking.

 

“Yes. And it’s fucking delicious, here, try it.”

 

“I think I’m good with my one, thanks.”

 

“Aw, come on, I promise it’s nice.”

 

“What’s in it?” Phil asks, looking dubious; the thing looks lethal. It’s a real cocktail, not a silly fruity affair like Phil likes. It’s a mix of spirits with a hint of flavouring, and Phil’s honestly not sure he can handle it.

 

“It’s um, rum…” Dan says, clearly struggling to remember.

 

“Mmm, umrum, my favourite.” Phil says, giggling.

 

“Shut up.” Dan says, and then he’s slipping his hand to the back of Phil’s head and lifting the glass to his lips. “Taste.”

 

Dan’s eyes are boring into his, and Phil can smell the Million cologne that he wears, clouding his senses, intoxicating him. He opens his mouth a little and Dan tips the glass, pouring some Between The Sheets onto his tongue.

 

The deep, dark, fruity flavour coils around his tastebuds; as he swallows, the 'umrum' claws softly at his throat.

 

Dan grins knowingly at him, his chocolate eyes caught on Phil’s every change of expression. He can’t even begin to try and hide it; the drink is delicious. It tastes like being between the sheets with Dan feels – heady, suffocating euphoria.

 

Dan leans in, snickering at Phil’s wide-eyed reaction.

 

“I knew you’d love it.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a few mornings after Dan brings up Vegas that Phil walks into the kitchen to see a Pokémon post-it note stuck to the fridge door. He recognises Dan’s bunched up handwriting before he even reads it, all small loops and smudged bits where his left hand trailed over the words as he scrawled them.

 

Mildly intrigued, Phil wanders over to the fridge instead of going for the kettle, his morning coffee abandoned for the moment. It’s not uncommon for he and Dan to leave each other stupid little notes like this. Mostly they just say stuff like ‘pick up milk and stop using the last of it on your 2am cereal noob’, or ‘the next pair of socks I find not in your room are being thrown off the balcony’, or ‘did you know that octopuses have three hearts’.

 

Okay, so maybe the last one is an example of a Phil-post-it rather than a Dan one, but still.

 

He gets up to the post-it in question and squints at it. He hasn’t put his contact lenses in yet, but he can just about make it out.

 

_Birthday Sex Rules List (Feel free to add):_

  * _Sex occurs on day of birthday only. Midnight is the cut off point._
  * _All forms of sex are permitted, pertaining to the birthday boy’s wishes, and with consent on both sides (duh)_
  * _Birthday sex is fine in lieu of a present (but we should probably get each other something small so the subscribers don’t get suspicious)_
  * _Feelings are to be kept out of it_



By the time Phil has gotten to the last bullet point on the list, he feels a little queasy. This is not what he expected to be confronted with just after waking up.

 

Taking a deep breath in, he tries to make sense of his emotions, which are currently ricocheting around his mind and body at a hundred miles per hour, refusing to be pinned down. Hurt is the main one, he thinks, turning away from the fridge so he doesn’t have to look at the post-it anymore. He goes to fill up the kettle.

 

For Dan to make a list of all things, to put clear, uncomplicated rules in place, it feels awful. Phil finds it incredibly difficult to believe that Dan doesn’t know how painful this all is for him, given how close the two of them are, and how depressed Phil is so much of the time regardless of how much of a front he puts up for his videos and their friends and families. In January, the day of his birthday, Dan walked in on Phil teary-eyed and pouring out his heart to his brother because he’s still so torn up over Dan, even a year after their supposed break up.

 

And yes, he agreed to the Birthday Sex thing, fine, whatever, it’s not like he had it in himself to say no considering he’s so desperate for anything Dan will give him – be it friend, sex buddy, flatmate or whatever else. But for Dan to treat this pact of theirs with such cold, brisk indifference, for him to plaster that indifference up on the fridge in their shared kitchen and expect Phil to just roll with it, to _add_ to it…

 

Phil realises belatedly that the kettle boiled long ago, and he’s staring down at his empty mug, fighting the tears burning his ducts.

 

He goes to get the milk, sighing, and tries not to read the stupid note again as he opens the fridge door, but he can’t help it, it’s like the damn thing is taunting him.

 

The last bullet point is the worst one, by far.

 

_Feelings are to be kept out of it._

As if it’s that fucking simple. As if Dan doesn’t know how very not-simple that is for Phil.

 

He finds himself angry as he boils the kettle again, splashing the milk in to his mug so harshly that it ends up all over the counter too. Stupid fucking Dan and his stupid fucking rules. So the pact is going to be on his terms, like always. And Phil is just expected to go along with it.

 

He sees a pen nearby, and before he can stop himself, he grabs it, storming back over to the note and scribbling his own addition to the list.

 

  * _If either of us want to stop, for any reason, it stops. _



It’s not the worst thing he could have written, by far. He could have told Dan to fuck himself, but the most irritating thing about all this Birthday Sex stuff is how much Phil actually wants it to happen. He wishes he could have laughed in Dan’s face the moment he suggested it, made him blush and want to take it back.

 

But of course Phil is hopeless, he’s so in love and so miserable without Dan that he will take anything the boy will give him. Every day is a constant battle without him, made especially torturous by the fact that Dan is so close – always, so, so close – but never as close as Phil wants him.

 

It’s like he tasted the sweetest nectar, fuelled himself on it for a whole year, ate nothing else, swore to drink it and only it for the rest of his days, relished it, adored it, and now it’s been taken from him. And now he is starving.

 

So now that Dan is offering a drop of it, even if it’s one tiny, watered-down drop twice a year, there is nothing Phil can do to make himself refuse.

 

Even so, maybe his addition to Dan’s list will keep Dan on his toes, at the very least. If Dan suspects that Phil might break it off, might find something better (ha!), then perhaps he’ll be tempted to sweeten the deal.

 

God, Phil thinks to himself, screwing his eyes shut and taking a gulp of coffee. He sounds pathetic, even to himself.

 

“Oh, you read it then?”

 

Phil nearly jumps out of his skin. He whirls round to face Dan, rumpled and sleepy still, his hair beginning to curl and the indents of his cover creases wound like scarlet vines up one of his arms.

 

He’s so beautiful Phil wants to cry. This was always unfair. Dan was always too beautiful, too pure, too incredible and he should have never gotten involved in the beginning. Not that he had much of a choice.

 

Dan stole his heart with a tweet about Muse and a blurry selfie where his fringe covered half his face. It is, and always was, impossible not to fall in love with him on sight.

 

“Yeah.” Phil replies eventually, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the level of hurt he feels.

 

“And… you added to it?” Dan asks, sounding curious. He nods towards the pen still in Phil’s hand.

 

“Um, yeah.” Phil says, face beginning to heat. Fuck, why did he write anything? Now Dan’s going to read it and see right through him-

 

“Sorry if it’s weird.” Dan blurts, his cheeks also tinged with pink. “I didn’t know how to bring it up but I was thinking we should have some ground rules and… I guess I thought the post-it would be quirky and funny but… I don’t know, it’s kind of dickish, isn’t it?”

 

Oh no, Phil thinks, his shoulders sagging. He’s being nice about it. He’s being _understanding._ That’s so much worse than if he just let Phil think it was a dick move and said nothing more about it.

 

Suddenly the post-it note doesn’t even seem that bad anymore. It seems like a reasonable idea, a smart idea really. Phil notices Dan shifting from foot to foot, looking guilty and uncomfortable. He wants to pull him into a hug and tell him it’s fine, that he doesn’t mind.

 

He doesn’t, obviously.

 

“It’s cool.” Phil says instead, shrugging and moving away from Dan. It’s too early and Dan is too pretty and there are too many emotions in his head and he just needs to be away from this situation. “We should probably take the list down when your parents visit in a week’s time.”

 

Phil gives Dan a small smile, hoping his pathetic attempt at a joke might have done something to lighten the mood. Dan snorts, so he thinks it probably did.

 

He turns to leave the kitchen then, acutely aware as he does so that Dan is walking over to the fridge in order to study the additional rule Phil put there.

 

Phil walks a bit slower, expecting Dan to say something about it. He doesn’t. Phil walks on.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow, you are seriously shit at this.” Dan laughs as Phil’s third attempt on getting three Aladdin’s lamps in a row on the slot machine epically fails.

 

Phil stares glumly at the display – one flying carpet, one tiger, and one lamp. Not even two of the same.

 

“You try then.” Phil says crossly, and Dan laughs louder. Phil tries to get up off the stool, but before he can get to his feet, Dan sinks down onto his lap.

 

“Okay, let me show you how it’s done, loser.” Dan shoves a quarter into the machine and wraps both hands, rather suggestively, around the enormous lever, then pulls with all his might. The dials spin excitedly, and the machine flashes, but Phil is focusing almost all of his attention on the weight of Dan on his lap.

 

The machine dings. A parrot, another parrot and a tiger.

 

Phil chuckles delightedly and pokes his fingers into Dan’s sides, making him yelp. “Thought you were gonna show me how it’s done?”

 

“Get off!” Dan squeals, wriggling away from the tickling but not moving from Phil’s knee. “That was a practice, obviously.”

 

“Obviously.” Phil mocks, smirking, and hands Dan another quarter.

 

“I might need a bit of luck.” Dan says, closing the quarter in his fist and turning to Phil, a glint in his eye. “Kiss it for me?”

 

Phil swallows, and blushes very slightly, but does as Dan asks, pressing his lips to Dan’s fist.

 

“O-kay.” Dan says determinedly, turning back towards the machine. “Ready, Phil?”

 

“So ready.”

 

Dan pushes the quarter into the slot and cranks the lever.

 

Ding! A lamp.

 

Ding! Another lamp.

 

“Holy crap!” Dan and Phil shout together, their eyes widening.

 

Ding! A tiger.

 

“Fuck’s sake.” Dan shouts, annoyed. “This whole place is rigged.”

 

Phil chuckles at him. “Aw, come on, you’ve got some quarters left, why don’t we play on a different one?”

 

“Nah.” Dan says, turning to Phil and grinning. “I’m bored of gambling. Let’s go to that place.”

 

Phil swallows again, knowing what Dan is referring to. It’s not like he can refuse, he supposes. It’s Dan’s birthday after all.

 

* * *

 

 

In the run up to the Vegas holiday, the excitement builds steadily. It’s a nervous excitement, very temperamental and prone to making unpredictable swan dives into paralyzing fear.

 

Dan decides early on that if they’re going to do this, he wants to do it properly. A true Vegas holiday with no expenses spared. He wants the most famous hotel, so Phil Googles the most popular one, and they book a hideously expensive suite in Caesar’s Palace.

 

It has two double beds, and when Dan notices this on the listing, he nudges Phil in the side and makes a flirty comment about how they won’t be needing two for the whole time.

 

For two weeks, Phil replays this moment over in his mind before he falls asleep in his lonely room across from Dan’s, cripplingly aware that right now, their beds couldn’t be further apart.

 

Dan also wants to go to a proper Las Vegas show, but not on his actual birthday, because that’s the night he wants to go wild. Phil whips out his MacBook yet again and searches for hours, trawling through every drunken idiot’s review of every show until he decides to book tickets for the famous Treasure Island show, as featured in Miss Congeniality 2. Not that Phil has seen that, of course…

 

Dan squats next to Phil on the sofa as he books each event, practically quivering with excitement. As a result of this, it’s pretty hard for Phil not to start looking forward to it too. Besides, the whole Birthday Sex thing aside, it’s a holiday in Las Vegas with his best friend. It’s practically impossible not to be excited.

 

Together, as the weeks go by, they Google bars, restaurants, magic shows, rides, casinos – everything Sin City has to offer.

 

Dan gets pretty enamoured by a place called the Palomino Club, a world-famous strip club in North Downtown.

 

“We have to go to at least one, Phil.” Dan whines, rolling his eyes. “This one looks amazing. And it’s basically against the law not to get a lap dance in Vegas on your birthday.”

 

Phil frowns, but stays quiet and bookmarks the tab.

 

* * *

 

 

They stand outside Caesar’s Palace and Phil looks about for a taxi rank. Dan clings to his arm, trying to act nonchalant, but Phil can tell he’s propping himself up a little. That Between The Sheets he downed had been quickly followed by another one, then a shot of vanilla vodka on the house because he’d declared to everyone at the bar that it was his birthday.

 

Cute, really.

 

Phil is finding it difficult to be able to locate a cab whilst holding Dan upright though, and he has no idea how to walk to this strip club Dan wants to go to. Dan is laughing at his bewildered expression, he has his hand in Phil’s hair, ruffling it fondly and telling him he’s ‘the cutest’.

 

“Shh, let me think a sec, Dan.”

 

“Er, _you_ shush.” Dan scoffs back at him, poking him in the cheek. “It’s _my_ birthday. I get to say whatever I want.”

 

“God’s sake, this place is so huge.” Phil mutters, trying to work out where the road even is from here. “How am I supposed to know where to find a bloody-”

 

“Phiiiil, let’s go to the strip club!” Dan whines, getting impatient.

 

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”

 

“Excuse me, Sir?” A voice interrupts from Phil’s right. “Do you require transportation?”

 

“Uh… yes.” Phil responds, a little taken aback by the man that’s approached him. He looks like something out of an old film. Pristine suit, stiff hat, arms folded behind his back.

 

“Might I offer you my services?” The man asks politely, extending a gloved hand to his right.

 

Phil looks towards where the man is pointing, bewildered by the situation, and his jaw drops.

 

“Holy fuck!” Dan exclaims loudly, which makes Phil want to shrivel up and die.

 

“Dan!” He chastises, glaring at the younger boy.

 

“I assure you, I’ve heard worse.” The immaculately dressed man tells Phil with a knowing smile. “Shall we?”

 

Oh, fuck it, Phil thinks to himself, knowing that his refusal isn’t exactly an option now that Dan’s seen what this guy is offering. And anyway, they’re here to blow a load of cash, right? If they’re not keen on gambling… they might as well blow it all on the glittering, bright white limousine stretched out in front of them.

 

“What the Hell.” Phil says, grinning, and Dan, still clinging to him, looks up at him in adoration.

 

“Phil, you’re actually the best.” Dan tells him, far from soberly. 

  

* * *

 

 

It’s about a week before they leave for the trip that Phil notices Dan spending more time than usual in his room with the door closed. It’s peculiar, because Dan tends to leave his door open when filming videos in case he needs to call Phil to assist him. And he rarely browses the internet or eats in there because he prefers their sitting room, as does Phil.

 

There'd been a period of time that Dan had acted this way before. Right after the Big Youtube Glitch when the site had un-privated thousands of privated videos and one of Phil's, that he'd made for Dan on Valentine's Day back when they were still together, became public. As soon as their subscribers got ahold of it, and notified Dan and Phil, Dan had gone ballistic. He'd shouted and sworn at Phil, at YouTube, at the fans, even. 

 

Then he'd locked himself in his room for about a week, only coming out to get food or use the bathroom. When he emerged at the end of the week, hundreds of his old tweets, formspring answers, videos and posts had been deleted from the internet. Except... nothing _actually_ gets deleted from the internet. And now that they'd caught a whiff of something between Dan and Phil, their fans made especially sure of it. 

 

Dan's still not entirely over the whole ordeal, but if there's one thing Phil has learned from the awful experience, it's not to mention it if he can possibly help it. For a moment, when he sees Dan locking himself away, he wonders if the Valentine's Day Video drama is affecting him again.

 

But he doesn't think that for long. Dan hasn't been acting annoyed or upset whenever he does venture out into the world. In fact, he's been gleeful and excitable about their upcoming trip. So Phil doesn't dwell on thoughts of Dan's closed door, and if he makes Dan food or tea or needs him for anything, he’ll simply knock politely and wait for Dan to answer.

 

One day however, he sort of forgets his manners.

 

In his defence, he’s a little distracted. His arms are filled with Lion cereal, a box of Calippo’s, and a meat cleaver – props for the video he’s just filmed. He needs Dan’s help for one final scene before he edits, and so, without knocking, he barges straight into Dan’s room, arms full of objects.

 

“Hey, Dan, could you-” Phil stops talking at once, and all the props crash to the ground – the meat cleaver narrowly avoiding slicing off the toes on his left foot.

 

He stands in the doorway, mouth agape, knowing he should look away from what he just walked in on _immediately_ , but finding that he’s completely frozen.

 

Dan is butt naked on his bed, the covers crumpled at his feet as he lies flat on his back, legs spread wide. His dick is hard and flushed, lying on his stomach, so ready for release it looks almost painful, though Dan’s hands are nowhere near it.

 

One of his hands is tangled in the sheet, pulling it off the corner of his mattress. The other is between his legs, three fingers pushed inside himself, up to the base knuckle.

 

Phil makes a little noise that resembles a mouse squeaking. The rush of blood to his groin makes his head swim so much he thinks he might pass out.

 

Dan whips the covers over himself at once, trying desperately to shield Phil’s stares from the sight of his exposed naked body, and what he’d been doing to it.

 

Dan says nothing, breathing heavily, eyes wide, his chest glistening with sweat as it rises and falls. After way too long to be considered appropriate, Phil manages to tear his gaze away, turning his attention to the ceiling.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He forces himself to say, and it comes out in a rush. He wonders how noticeable his blush is considering his face feels like it’s on fire. “Iwasjustaskingforyourhelpforavideobut-”

 

Unexpectedly, Dan chuckles. Phil glances down again, marvelling at his grin.

 

“Relax, Phil.” Dan tells him before slumping back down on the bed, clearly exhausted. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

 

“Well… well, yeah, but-”

 

“I know, it’s awkward as fuck, but can we just pretend that didn’t happen, please?” Dan interrupts, still chuckling slightly. “And maybe introduce a knocking rule?”

 

“Um, y-yeah, of course.” Phil mumbles, nodding. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Dan reassures him. “Now, what did you want?”

 

“Well, actually, as you’re in bed…” Phil starts to say, and Dan raises an eyebrow. “N-no! I just mean… shut up, let me get my camera.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen. “Wait, what!?”

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a mini bar in this limo, and Phil has more or less come to terms with the fact that he will have no money by the time he gets to VidCon after this lost week in Vegas.

 

Dan’s on his sixth bottle of mini champagne, and he’s opened a bag of mixed nuts only to taste one, spit it out of the window because it was ‘gross’, and then promptly spill them all over the backseats.

 

“Alternative confetti!” He cries as almonds and peanuts sail through the air whenever they go over a speedbump or round a sharp corner.

 

Phil tries to be cross, but honestly, he’s so cute and excitable it’s melting his heart.

 

Right now, Dan is pressed up against his side, talking very fast and loud about nothing in particular. He seems to be veering from one topic to the next at random, and Phil is having trouble keeping up because he’s not exactly sober himself.

 

“Wha’s th’place called again, Philly?” Dan asks as he tries to cram a macadamia nut into Phil’s mouth.

 

Phil gently but firmly bats Dan’s hands away. “The Palomino Club. You wanted to go there.”

 

“I did?” Dan asks, confused.

 

“Yes, very much.” Phil says patiently, smiling at Dan's almost childlike tipsy state. “You told me when we were back in Manchester that you wanted a lap dance for your 21st because it’s the law.”

 

Dan blinks at him owlishly, mouth in a little ‘o’. “Well if’ts th’law then I _have_ to.”

 

Phil looks at him mock-sternly. “That’s right, Dan. You have to.”

 

Dan gulps and turns away to stare at the neon lights streaming past the window in a blur of vivid colour.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil wheels his suitcase out into the kitchen, trying to list everything in his mind that he’s packed, mentally checking off each item just in case he's forgotten something.

 

“Dan?” He calls. “You ready?”

 

He expects Dan to call back from down the hall, but instead Dan answers from behind him.

 

“Nah, thought I’d stay home. Catch up on some Jeremy Kyle.”

 

Phil whirls round to face him, and sees Dan, backpack on, scribbling something attached to the fridge door. Belatedly, he notices Dan’s packed suitcase leant against the counter, opposite his own.

 

Phil laughs at Dan’s response. “See you in a week, then. I’ll tell Caesar you said hey.”

 

Dan finishes whatever he’s writing and caps the lid back on the pen. Then he turns to Phil properly, grinning. “Cheers.”

 

Phil grins back. This trip might not be a disaster after all. They’re both so excited. Vegas!

 

“What’ve you written?” Phil asks, curious.

 

He wanders over to the fridge. He’d almost forgotten about the Birthday Sex Rules post-it note until now, but he sees that Dan has made an addition.

 

_What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas ;)_

Phil forces a weak chuckle, still not totally okay with the post-it note and all that it represents.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asks, glancing at Dan beside him.

 

Dan shrugs, smirking. “Dunno. I assume we’re gonna get up to some stuff though. This gives us free reign to go a little bit off the rails.”

 

Phil stares at him, trying to decipher whether he means going off the rails in general, or going off the rails with the Birthday Sex. As he wrote that on the Birthday Sex Rules list, one might assume it was the latter.

 

Dan grins again, then sends Phil a cheeky wink before sliding past him to grab his suitcase.

 

Like it has been doing for the past week and half, the image of Dan with his fingers deep inside himself, sweaty and panting as he drove himself insane with pleasure, ploughs into Phil like a freight train. He swallows and tries to shake the image away, but it’s useless, as always. He’s already jerked off to the memory fifty thousand times since it happened.

 

He’s just going to have to deal with a ride to the airport, and maybe even a plane journey, whilst nursing a semi that won't quit.

 

Sighing, he follows Dan out of the door, wondering for the billionth time how he ever got himself into this situation.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrive at the strip club just before ten, and the place is lit up. The outside doesn’t give a lot away, apart from the fact it’s teeming with people and there’s a long queue outside the door. Not that it’s a huge problem for Phil, who booked in advance.

 

“Oh my God, they’re so naked!” Dan exclaims once they get inside, staring unashamedly at the various scantily clad strippers winding themselves around poles.

 

And, to be fair to Dan's observational skills, a lot of the girls are completely naked. It's a little shocking, at first.

 

Phil laughs at Dan, steering him to the booth a smiley, tattooed young lady with several dollar bills tucked into her thong is leading them to. As soon as they’re seated, she tells them her name is Lola and asks in a husky voice if she can get them any drinks.

 

“It’s my birthday!” Dan practically shouts at her before Phil can even consider replying.

 

Lola looks a little shocked at first, but her expression quickly melts into a sultry grin. She places both her hands on the table and leans towards Dan, making it near impossible for the younger boy not to stare directly at her cleavage. Thankfully, Lola isn't quite topless, although her skimpy black mesh bra is see-through if you squint. 

 

“Is that right, cutie?” She asks Dan, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “And how old are you today?”

 

Dan stares at her, mouth open in shock. “T-twenty-one.”

 

She smiles predatorily and slips into the booth to sit beside Dan, her body pressed closely against his side, her arm draping itself casually around his shoulders; Phil feels his fingers digging into the velvet of the seat below him.

 

“Adorable. And is that a yummy British accent I hear?” Lola asks, leaning forward a little further now, her lips inches from Dan’s.

 

Dan nods unsurely. His eyes keep flicking to her mouth, and Phil prays that he doesn’t do something stupid like try to kiss her. He doesn’t feel like getting thrown out of a strip club considering he has no clue where they are.

 

“You got some ID on you, sweetheart?” She asks him softly, her darkly painted lips almost brushing his.

 

Phil’s stomach churns a little. He feels himself sobering and immediately wants to down a double vodka and coke. Why does he have to look at this? Why must he be in this position? If Dan wants to fuck some random prostitute-slash-waitress-slash-stripper tonight instead of doing their little deal, then why doesn’t he pay for a session in the champagne room or whatever?

 

Phil scoots to the edge of his seat, feeling annoyed and hurt and focused on heading for the bar so he can get absolutely trashed, but at that moment, Dan whips out his wallet and produces his driver’s licence.

 

Lola slips it off the table with her glittery gold talons, and holds it up to her face.

 

“Sure enough, twenty-one today.” She says, sounding a little surprised that he was telling the truth. “Okay sweetie, I’ll get you and your friend here a li’l birthday treat.”

 

Then, as quick as a flash, she winks at Dan and slips out of the booth, her hips sashaying as she wanders back over to the bar.

 

“Fucking hell.” Dan breathes, looking a little pink in the face. “I was not ready for that.”

 

Phil decides that his trip to the bar can wait. “If that got you all worked up, how well are you gonna deal with the lap dance?”

 

“I-I’m not sure I can do it, Phil.” Dan admits, his eyes round and a little bit frightened as they meet Phil’s.

 

Phil’s brow creases in confusion. Huh? He’d thought Dan was enjoying Lola’s attention. What happened to it being the law to have a twenty-first birthday lap dance?

 

“Here we are boys!” Lola announces suddenly, swanning back over to their booth clutching an enormous pitcher of something bright turquoise along with a bottle of whiskey. “I know how you British folk love your whiskey, am I right? And your birthday cocktails, of course!”

 

She places both things down on the table, then produces two tumblers out of seemingly nowhere – Phil would rather not ask where she was stashing them.

 

“Wow, thanks!” Dan exclaims, eyes lighting up at the cocktail, which has about a million straws, sparklers and cocktail stirrers stuffed into it.

 

“No problem, birthday boy.” She says, grinning, then leans down and swiftly pecks Dan on the cheek, darting back quickly as though she’s worried he might pull her in for more. Phil wouldn’t be surprised if that was a common occurrence for the poor girl. “What’s your name, cutie?”

 

“Um, Dan.” Dan tells her, blushing.

 

“Well, Dan the birthday boy, would you like another present?” She asks him, batting her lashes a little.

 

Dan glances at Phil, exchanging a look of bewilderment. “Um, yeah? Sure.”

 

Lola’s eyes gleam, and she grabs hold of Dan’s hand, dragging him up out of his seat and promptly pushing him into a nearby chair.

 

Phil watches in horror as the stripper clambers onto Dan’s lap and begins dancing, her eyes locked with his, her hands braced on the chair either side of his head.

 

She’s very good at it, Phil can see, her body moves with the music with such fluidity that she might as well be a pillar of smoke, or a river of rushing water. Her olive skin glows pink and green and purple in the disco lights that blink on the stages where the other strippers work their poles. It's mesmerising, and Phil would probably be entranced by it too, if the person underneath her weren't captivating all of his attention, as ever.

 

Dan, on the other hand, appears transfixed, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, his breath held in as she presses herself against him. His eyes are wide and unblinking as she moves over him, as though he can't bring himself to look away. 

 

Phil feels slightly sick, but he unscrews the whiskey she just put down on the table and takes a large swig straight from the bottle. He didn’t think, when he booked a table at this place, that it would be this difficult to watch Dan having a semi-naked girl grind on him.

 

Why on earth didn't he even consider that?

 

He tries to mollify his own hateful thoughts towards Lola, her perfect body and brash, predatory attitude with the assurance that he will almost definitely have Dan all to himself later tonight, ready and willing, as per his own negotiations, to let Phil do whatever he likes.

 

For some reason, this thought isn’t as reassuring as he wishes it were. He drinks more whiskey, though he can’t stand the taste or smell. It burns his throat as he swallows and he winces.

 

Disgusted with the sight of Dan and stupid, gorgeous Lola, Phil looks around himself at the Palomino Gentlemen's Club. There are certainly a lot of men in here, but they don't seem particularly gentle. They shout and holler at the girls on the poles, luring them to the edge of the stage with twenty dollar bills held between their teeth. The girls grin and crawl towards them on hands and knees, extracting the cash with their mouths or fingers, but Phil can tell they must hate it. 

 

A couple of guys in the corner seem particularly grabby, and though the girls don't let on that they're having trouble, Phil notices the big burly bouncers positioned around the edges of the room keeping their eyes fixed on the bunch, ready to step in at any moment. 

 

It's grotesque, as are the lap dances happening everywhere around the room. Gross, sweaty guys with their legs spread wide, topless girls pressing their breasts and bums against them as they mumble incoherent objectifying comments. Phil drinks more whiskey, feeling a little ill. Why on earth did Dan want to come here so much? 

 

Belatedly, Phil realises that Dan is staring at him from the chair where Lola is currently pointing the back end of her thong at his face. He doesn't look like the other guys look as he's danced on. The other guys in here look seconds from bursting, from coming all over themselves or grabbing the dancer and throwing her to the floor.

 

Dan, in comparison, seems distracted. It's almost as though he were in an ordinary chair anywhere else, or sat on the sofa back in their flat. There's no excitement or lust in his expression, despite Lola's best efforts. Heck, he's not even looking at her. He's staring at Phil.  

 

Phil wiggles his eyebrows at Dan and grins, pointing to Lola. He's trying to play the part of the 'lad', because he feels he might as well. Dan wanted to come to a strip club, wanted to get a lap dance. He must want Phil to play along with it all, so Phil will, even if he secretly hates this whole scenario. 

 

Dan doesn't wiggle his eyebrows back. Phil guesses he must be enjoying himself somehow, even if he doesn't look the way the other guys in here look. So he leaves Dan to it, turning away to taste the cocktail Lola had brought them, though he still feels a little queasy from watching her do what she's doing to the boy he loves. 

 

To take his mind off it, he takes a sip from a bright yellow curly straw; he swears he catches a glimpse of Heaven.

 

 _Holy shit_.

 

“Unnnngh.” Phil moans, eyes closed, as the delicious blend of tropical fruit, alcohol and E numbers slips down his throat.

 

“Wow, if that’s how you act about the cocktails, how are you gonna deal with the lap dance?” Someone says in a mocking tone from right beside him.

 

Phil opens his eyes. It’s Dan, sliding back into his seat with a smirk.

 

“Dan?" Phil asks, confused. He looks around their booth. "Where’s Lola?” 

 

Dan wrinkles his nose. “I told her thanks but no thanks.” He chooses a straw from the cocktail pitcher and brings it towards his mouth. “Not my type.”

 

Phil eyes him sceptically. “Beautiful, half-naked, tanned women offering you free lap dances _aren’t your type?_ ” Phil raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “She even had tattoos, Dan. That’s like your biggest thing. Remember when you tried to convince me to get one when we were-”

 

Phil stops himself, chastising his runaway tipsy brain. Dan chuckles though, and nods like he remembers.

 

He takes a sip of the blue drink, and lets out a moan of his own. Phil tries to ignore how hot it is, unsuccessfully.

 

“Holy _fuck._ I dunno what this is, but it’s the _tits._ ” Dan says, drinking down another gulp. “Did I see you opting for the whiskey a second ago? That’s unlike you.”

 

Phil shrugs. “I was feeling a little too sober.”

 

“I know what you mean.” Dan says seriously. “I feel like when I broke the seal outside I may have pissed away all my carefully built up drunkenness without realising.”

 

“I still can't believe you peed in the street.” Phil says, laughing. "That's illegal here, you know." 

 

"Pretty sure it's illegal in most places, Philly." Dan chuckles. "The point is we are too sober to be in here," Phil nods ecstatically at this, "and definitely too sober for my twenty-first birthday."

 

"Agreed."  

 

“Okay, how can we fix the situation?” Dan wonders aloud, then grins, picking up the pitcher and the bottle of whiskey in either hand. “Ah, I know!” Phil laughs, and Dan plonks both objects back down in front of them. “Okay, let’s race to finish the pitcher. Ready, set, GO!”

 

“Wait, what-” Phil starts to say, but Dan’s mouth is already around three of the straws and he’s slurping vigorously, so Phil finds some straws of his own and begins, laughing at the manic, determined look in Dan’s eyes as they lock with his.

 

* * *

 

 

This, it turns out, was a bad idea. Even though the cocktail tasted like a glass of children’s birthday party punch, it must have had a lot of alcohol in, judging by the way the floor is teetering underneath their table.

 

“Phil,” Dan says sloppily, jabbing a finger across the table at him, “y’know wut?”

 

“Hm?” Phil responds, feeling himself swaying in his seat, probably because the floor is so wobbly. It’s kind of like being on a ferry, he thinks, then giggles slightly, imagining that they are.

 

“Yer my bessst frien’.” Dan slurs. “An’ I ne’er ha’one. B’fore.”

 

“Ruh-ly?!” Phil asks, feeling all of a sudden incredibly concerned for Dan, who has never had a best friend before. Why not? Who wouldn’t want to be best friends with Dan? Dan is the best person in the world! Who are these freaks that refused him their friendship?

 

“Who’re they?!” Phil asks Dan angrily. “I’ll kill’em all! I’ll find ‘em, Dan. Don’worry.”

 

Dan looks a little confused at first, but then raises his tumbler in the air. “Cheers t’that.”

 

Phil raises his too, and they attempt to clink them together, but find their depth perception is a little off, and manage to sail straight past one another. They try again, but the same thing seems to happen.

 

Wordlessly, they decide to give up, and just drink the remains of their whiskey. 

 

Phil catches sight of Lola walking past the table, far more dollar bills tucked into her pants now than there had been before. She glances at the empty pitcher and grabs it off the table, but she doesn’t speak to either of them. Honestly, it seems a little rude.

 

Suddenly, because he’s just at this moment decided that Lola is a nasty person, Phil feels like the thing he thought he couldn’t say earlier is actually perfectly acceptable. He turns to Dan, who is holding his tumbler to his eye, twisting it to and fro as if it were a spyglass.

 

“Dan?”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

“I don’ like it when Lola dances o’you.”

 

Dan blinks at Phil, surprised. He places the tumbler down carefully and begins pouring more whiskey into their glasses, getting a fair bit on the table as he does so. They've both apparently decided to ignore the fact that they can't stand whiskey. 

 

At least they'll be the only ones having to taste themselves, Phil thinks, suppressing a giggle. 

 

“Neither do I.” Dan says, mouth twisting into a frown.

 

Now it’s Phil’s turn to be surprised. “R’lly? Why?”

 

“Cos-” Dan pauses to hiccup. “Cos she’s- cos she’s not,” Dan groans, frustrated with his inability to form a coherent thought, “I don’ wanna lap dance fr’m _Lo-lah_.”

 

Oh. Phil looks down at the tumbler held in his hands, surprised to find it half full of swirling amber liquid. “Wh-who did y’want it from?”

 

Phil glances around the place, surveying each of smiling, often topless girls wandering about, or even the completely naked ones sliding up and down the poles on stage. Which one does Dan have his eye on, if not Lola?

 

When Phil turns back to Dan, he finds a smirk on his features. “Someone wi’better hips.”

 

“Bett'r _hips_?” Phil reiterates. Lola’s hips had seemed pretty perfect to him, but whatever. “Anythin’ else? It’s your birthday. I’ll get you aaaanyone you want.”

 

Phil throws his arm out, gesturing to the whole club filled with girls for Dan to pick from, but as he doesn’t look where he’s gesturing, he unfortunately smacks his hand straight into Lola’s bum as she waits on the table behind them.

 

She whirls around, furious, ready to yell at the gross guy that goosed her, but catching sight of Phil, Dan right across from him, she stops. She looks a little flummoxed, honestly, her eyes flicking between them as if unsure how to proceed. 

 

Phil immediately blurts out an apology, one that makes no sense because all his words are smashing together for some reason. His heart pounds as he tries to convey that it was an accidental bum-slap, and Lola just stares at him, utterly bewildered. 

 

"Look man," Lola says eventually, after around a minute of Phil's babbling, "whatever. Just don't do it again, okay? Shit like that'll get you kicked outta here quicker than your friend there can come in his twenty-one year old pants." 

 

With that, Lola stalks off, and Phil slumps back in his seat, relief cascading over him. When he glances over at Dan, he sees the younger boy soundless with laughter, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

 

The sight makes Phil grin too. "Oi, shu'up." He kicks Dan gently under the table. "Shut  _up._ "

 

"S'rry, s'rry," Dan says eventually, though he sounds anything but. "That was frickin' _hilarious_. You smack'd Lola's ass! You perv!" Phil groans in futile embarrassment, and gulps down some whiskey. As Phil sets his glass back down, he feels Dan's hand grab his knee under the table. Without thinking, he places his own over the top of it, and winds their fingers together.

 

After a moment of just staring, Dan speaks. "Hey, di'she say I had twenty-one year ol' pants?" 

 

This time, Phil throws his head back and laughs, because that seems like the funniest thing in the world right now, and the room is spinning a little, sure, but Dan's close to him and touching him and Lola's gone and probably hates them now... so the night stretches ahead, filled with unspoken promises. 

 

“Wha’s the time?” Phil asks once he's stopped laughing, and Dan grins, pulling out his phone with his other hand.

 

“El'ven-forty-one.” Dan says happily.

 

“Shit!” Phil says; he can feel the promises that tonight holds slipping away one by one. “Tha’s not ‘nough time t’get back.”

 

Dan’s attention falls to where Phil’s teeth are worrying his bottom lip. “Huh?”

 

“Th’post-it note, Dan.” Phil tries to explain, exasperated that Dan doesn’t immediately understand. He decides using hand gestures – with one of his hands only – will help. “You said that if it’s b’fore midnight, it counts. If it isn’t…”

 

His hand not holding Dan's flaps in mid-air, then drops to the table.

 

“Ohhhh.” Dan says, his brow furrowing as he thinks hard. “I hav' a new rule.”

 

Phil’s eyebrow raises. “Y’can’t just-”

 

Dan silently leans across the table and presses his finger to Phil’s lips. “Shhh. I’m th’birthday boy, remember? An’ I say th’new rule is… if we initiate physical ‘ffection _at all_ b’fore midnight… it counts until we wake up th’next day.”

 

Phil rubs his temple with one finger. “Sounds complicated.”

 

“S’not.” Dan states firmly, leaving no room for argument. “All you gotta do’s kiss me b’fore twelve.”

 

Phil hiccups softly, then smiles. “Like Cinderella. Cin- _dan_ -rella.”

 

Dan screws up his face. “Tha’s awful.”

 

“C’mere then, princess.” Phil says, heart starting to pound because flimsy, uncertain rules or not, he gets to kiss Dan again, right now, after months of not getting to. 

 

Maybe this really is a fairytale. 

 

Dan’s spilled a tiny spot of blue cocktail on his shirt, just over his heart, his forehead is a little shiny and he's rosy-cheeked from the drinking, but it doesn’t detract from the overall look of him, which is still intimidatingly gorgeous.

 

Dan grins widely, his dimples deepening, and Phil’s heart stops for a second, presumably to marvel at it.

 

“Gotta catch me first.” Dan says.

 

Phil’s smile falls. What?

 

Before his drink-addled mind can process what’s happening, Dan's hand slips from his, and the newly twenty-one-year-old is up out of the booth, running full pelt towards the stage.

 

Phil watches him for a second, then grins, downs his whiskey, and runs after him.

 

* * *

 

 

The door of their suite crashes into the wall as it’s flung open, both of them pressed against it, their lips fused together, Phil’s hands in Dan’s back pocket, squeezing his ass.

 

Dan is laughing into his mouth, hands wound tightly in his hair, and all Phil wants to do is get him against some sort of surface, whether it’s a bed, the floor, a wall, heck – even a fricking Blackjack table would do, so he’s glad for Caesar’s Palace’s sake that they found their room key.

 

He pushes Dan inside a little further and slams the door shut behind them, loud enough to disturb the entire corridor. Somehow, he gets Dan up against a wall, and as soon as that happens his lips are pressing against Dan’s neck. He wants to drive Dan wild tonight, and he knows that this is the way to do it.

 

Sure enough, Dan moans deliciously, his hands tightening in Phil’s hair. Phil can feel the tiny specks of glitter caught on his tongue as he mouths at Dan’s throat, biting softly whenever Dan’s getting a bit too quiet for his liking.

 

“Kiss me.” Dan orders, so Phil does, steering his lips back to Dan’s and pushing his tongue inside, shivering as he hears Dan moan.

 

Dan grabs him by the shirt and drags him backwards, both of them stumbling a little because their eyes are firmly closed, though eventually they bump into one of the double beds.

 

Dan falls straight back onto it, breaking the kiss, and Phil stares down at him for a moment, slightly awestruck by the state of him. Dan’s shirt is soaked with alcohol, so much so that it’s see-through in places, clinging to his skin. Four of the buttons have come off it, so it hangs off him, begging to be ripped off completely.

 

His hair is ruffled and almost completely curly by now; that and his face, neck and chest are covered in glitter, along with his hands, trousers, and practically everywhere else on his body.

 

He’s grinning up at Phil, his pupils widely dilated, and his mouth open as he breathes heavily, daring Phil to come to him.

 

“Come here, sparkles.” Dan breathes, raising his eyebrows.

 

Phil looks down at himself, and for the first time notices that he’s covered in glitter too. He moves towards Dan, intending to crawl up onto the bed, but Dan holds up a hand, stopping him.

 

“Wait… shirt off, please.” Dan commands, and Phil doesn’t dare argue. He pulls the shirt over his head and throws it behind him, leaving him bare chested. Dan nods in approval, licking his lips. “You may proceed.”

 

Phil crawls up over Dan, kicking off his shoes as he does so, and proceeding to reattach his lips to Dan’s neck. His hands wander over Dan’s chest, feeling his sodden shirt. Suddenly, it seems nonsensical that it’s still on Dan at all, so he grabs the two lapels and yanks, hard.

 

It rips apart easily; one of the remaining buttons skitters to the floor.

 

“Fucking hell, Phil.” Dan comments, laughing. “Easy tiger- _ohh._ ”

 

To silence him, Phil ducks his head to the newly exposed area he just uncovered, licking and biting at the soft, damp skin covering Dan’s abdominal muscles and chest.

 

Sharp, bitter yet familiar flavours prickle Phil’s tastebuds as he does this, and his eyebrows crinkle in confusion, trying to identify them.

 

“You taste like…” Phil mutters, trying hard to think. “Vodka. And whiskey. And rum.”

 

Dan, who is gasping every so often under Phil’s ministrations, his hand in Phil’s hair, swallows as Phil says this.

 

“B-body shots.” He gasps out, clearly enjoying the sensation of Phil closing his mouth over his nipple.

 

Body shots? Phil tries to think. When did they do those? Now that he thinks about it, he does vaguely remember lapping various liquids out of Dan’s clavicle and bellybutton…

 

“Hold on…” Dan says breathlessly, pushing gently against Phil’s shoulders until he straightens back into an upright position. “Phil, there’s an issue.”

 

Phil’s stomach drops. No. No, he doesn’t want to think about ‘issues’ right now. He's a little too drunk to be aware of every repercussion or every reason why this is happening, but the one thing he does know is that the love of his life is turning twenty-one, and he wants to make that special.

 

But if Dan says there’s an issue, he can’t exactly insist they ignore it. He stares glumly at Dan.

 

“What is it?” He asks tentatively.

 

To his great, immense relief, a mischievous smile splits Dan’s features. “I never got a birthday lap dance. That’s against the law.”

 

Phil’s brows crease together. “Huh? Yeah you did. With um, whatshername. Laura. No… Lola.”

 

Dan shakes his head, sticking his lower lip out in a fake pout. “She was rubbish, Phil. All she did was wave her bum in my face.” Phil can’t help the burst of laughter that escapes him. “Besides, I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

 

Phil lets out a disbelieving laugh. “O-kay…”

 

“So?” Dan prompts. “How are you gonna resolve my issue, Phil?”

 

Phil blinks at him a few times, and then it clicks into place. “Uh uh, no way. I’m _not_ giving you a lap dance.”

 

“Please, Phil?” Dan begs, his stupidly long lashes fluttering obscenely. “It’s my birthday.”

 

“I _know._ You’ve mentioned that.” Phil says, laughing. “Trust me, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight, Dan.”

 

All of a sudden, Dan’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s being manhandled towards the head of the bed. As soon as his back hits the headboard, Dan is in his lap, kissing him soundly.

 

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” Dan asks as he breaks away briefly. “I think you’d look _gorgeous._ ”

 

“I think I’d look like a clumsy, gyrating pillock.” Phil retorts, though he welcomes the kisses Dan is giving him, hands travelling unsubtly down to squeeze his ass again.

 

It’s so firm and delicious to hold. He thrusts upwards a little, almost subconsciously, wanting to press himself against it, and Dan gasps.

 

“It could be my birthday present?” Dan hints, grinding down in response as he kisses along Phil’s jaw. Phil moans, clutching Dan's ass tighter in his hands. 

 

“No way.” Phil says after a moment, trying to sound like he’s unconvinceable, though in reality, he’s pretty sure he’d do anything Dan asked for given the right amount of bargaining or begging. “Ask for something else.”

 

“Well actually,” Dan says way too quickly, and immediately Phil realises he’s been played. Dan never wanted the lap dance, he was using it as leverage for something else. “I do have something else in mind.”

 

Phil tries to be annoyed by Dan’s tactics, but honestly, he’s too drunk and too horny and too excited by what’s happening to even think about being cross right now.

 

He decides to just play along. “And what’s that?”

 

Dan brings his mouth close to Phil’s ear, his lips brushing the shell of it just enough that Phil shivers. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

Phil’s mouth falls open, definitely not expecting that. He stares at Dan, a little scared by this request. Dan smiles at him, and he swallows.

 

“Dan…” He starts to say, but he trails off. How can he explain why that is not an option just yet for him.

 

How can he tell this beautiful, beaming, ray of sunshine on his twenty-first birthday that he can’t get too close to him because if he does he’ll get burned so badly that he’s afraid he might not recover.

 

The devastation that the ‘Birthday Sex’ has caused both times since they’ve been broken up has been horrific, but manageable _so far._ But that’s only because Phil has reminded himself each time that he shouldn’t get used to it, and because he didn’t let himself go too far.

 

Being inside of Dan, properly, that’s a whole other thing to just fooling around with him. How is he going to be able to piece himself back together tomorrow, when this is over, if he does this?

 

Dan reaches for his own belt buckle then, undoing it swiftly, and pushing his jeans over hips. He takes them off completely, apparently not needing Phil’s help, and Phil watches him, speechless.

 

“W-why do you want that so much?” Phil asks after a while, his voice catching in his throat.

 

“Because, Phil,” Dan replies as he starts to slip his boxers off too, “of all the things I miss most about you and your sexual prowess, your ability to turn me to mush with your sensational fucking ability has got to be number one.”

 

Phil blushes hard, swallowing again as Dan pushes the boxers down his legs and throws them somewhere on the bed. He’s completely naked now, aside from the glitter, and Phil’s eyes stray everywhere, drinking him in, wanting to feel, taste, clutch at every inch of him.

 

Dan leans over him, extending his beautiful back over Phil’s legs as he reaches for the bedside table, and opens the little drawer.

 

“Stashed this in here for later.” Dan explains as he pulls out a decent-sized bottle of lubricant.

 

“Woah, I haven’t said yes yet.” Phil tells him, plucking the lube from his grasp.

 

Dan laughs at him, his hand travelling up to stroke across Phil’s crotch, knowingly. “Yeah, you seem really reluctant.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes, but it’s true. Unfortunately for him, as much as he knows it’s a terrible idea to fuck Dan Howell considering they’ve broken up and he still pines after the guy every minute of every day… his body is not going to want to pass up the opportunity to do the thing that he and Dan love most.

 

“Dan…” Phil tries to say again, though he still has no clue how to explain his turmoil of emotion.

 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Dan whines, rolling onto his back. “Please? I'm twenty-one today and all I want is to be fucked senseless by AmazingPhil, vlogging sensation, my YouTuber crush since 2007.” Phil chuckles. Alcohol always tends to bring out Dan’s dramatic side. “I want it more than anything. I’ve been dreaming of it since the last time we ever did it, which was more than a _year_ ago. Do you realise that?”

 

Phil gnaws on his lip, still uncertain. Dan rolls over and crawls up towards Phil again, his finger tracing circles on Phil’s bare chest.

 

“Please, Philly? I’ve even been prepping myself for weeks now.” Dan says to try and sway him.

 

A look of realisation dawns on Phil’s features. The image of walking in on Dan back in their flat, seeing him open himself up, a strained, exhausted look on his face, the fact that Dan’s door had been closed for long periods of the day for a week before that…

 

Dan leans forward as though he’s going to kiss Phil, but at the last second, he swipes the lube from Phil’s grasp and darts backwards, rolling onto his back again.

 

Phil rolls his eyes but smiles. Dan is so mischievous when he’s drunk.

 

The smile falls pretty quickly though, because Dan squirts the lube onto his fingers almost immediately, and before Phil knows what’s happening, he’s watching Dan freely finger himself right in front of him.

 

His cock hardens further in his jeans.

 

Dan moans delightedly, the hand not currently inside himself stroking softly over his erection.

 

Phil stares, not knowing how to proceed. Well, he thinks. There’s nothing wrong with simply… removing his own trousers, right? They were fully intending to do _stuff_ anyway. The trousers would have come off at some point. It doesn’t mean he necessarily needs to-

 

“Fuck, _Phil,_ ” Dan groans as he adds a second finger, “would you- would you come inside me? Or you can come on my chest if you want. Or my mouth… anywhere, ugh… just hurry up.”

 

Phil’s mouth dries up entirely as he watches the display, and he can’t seem to make his hands work properly to unfasten his own jeans. He knows that Dan is just manipulating him. He knows that Dan is well aware of just how to get Phil so worked up that he'll do anything, agree to anything at all. 

 

But fucking hell, who is he kidding? He watches Dan writhing around, sweat beading on his brow as he works himself open for Phil.

 

There’s no way Phil isn’t fucking Dan tonight.

 

He's too drunk, on blue cocktail, the adrenaline of being in Vegas, and on  _Dan,_ his favourite narcotic, and the one that fucks him up the most. He can't possibly make a rational decision right now. For once he wants to just not care about the 'right' thing or the 'healthy' thing. He wants to fuck Dan more than he wants to fill his lungs with another breath of air. 

 

So why can't he?

 

Finally, somehow, he manages to get his jeans undone, and he pulls them off as quickly as he can manage, boxers included. When they’ve been tossed aside, he turns back to find Dan watching him intently, still working three fingers in and out, though he’s released his hold on his erection.

 

“Okay.” Phil whispers, relenting. He's aware that he must sound embarrassingly wrecked, but he doesn't care about that right now.  

 

Dan’s eyes shine with excitement, and he removes his fingers quickly, biting his lip.

 

“R-really?” Dan asks as Phil climbs on top of him, and Phil can hear his heart pounding when he’s up this close.

 

“Really really.” Phil replies, smirking, and Dan hits him in the shoulder.

 

“Do _not_ make a Shrek reference right now you absolute, massive-”

 

Phil kisses him to shut him up, curling his tongue against Dan’s so he can taste as much of him as possible.

 

He lowers his hips to Dan’s, their bodies aligning, and Dan wraps his legs around Phil’s waist, clearly excited.

 

Phil reaches down to position himself up against Dan’s entrance, hearing Dan make a strangled sort of noise as the head of his cock pushes against the sensitive area.

 

“Ready?” Phil asks against Dan’s lips, though he’s worried that waiting any longer might actually give him a heart attack.

 

Dan stares at him like he’s insane. “Only for like a year and half! Will you get on with it? I’m about to expl- _ohhhh!_ ”

 

Phil pushes inside in one swift thrust, fitting as easily as if they’d been doing this the whole time. Dan’s muscles flutter around him, but Phil can tell Dan hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d prepared for this moment for a while.

 

Dan doesn’t object to the intrusion at all, and if anything he seems to be pulling Phil further in, both with his internal muscles and the legs squeezing around Phil’s waist.

 

 _Ohh_ , and Dan feels like Heaven.

 

He always did. It’s enough to make tears want to sting Phil’s eyes. It’s the most incredible sensation he can ever recall feeling. Warm, tight, slick, and as familiar as coming home.

 

He draws out again, almost completely, and thrusts back in, watching Dan’s face this time, noticing each flutter of Dan’s lashes, the way his mouth drops open, how his neck muscles strain.

 

He's missed this so fucking much. 

 

Dan’s hands are on Phil’s shoulders, the nails digging in a little, and Phil’s name falls like a raindrop from Dan’s bitten, red lips.

 

“Ph- _phil_ …” Dan intones, hips moving to meet him as Phil thrusts in a third time, deciding to pick up the pace now.

 

He grabs hold of Dan’s wrists and pins them down either side of his head against the mattress. Dan tosses his head backwards and moans, because he loves to be pinned like this, and Phil has always known that too.

 

Phil starts off gentle, letting Dan get re-acquainted with the size of him, but soon Dan is begging Phil to go faster, deeper, harder, so Phil obliges. The birthday boy gets whatever he wants, after all.

 

“Oh, Christ, Phil,” Dan keens, his fists clenching just above where Phil is holding them, “fuck me harder, _please_.”

 

Phil thrusts in deeply, trying desperately to only think of Dan’s wants and desires right now, but finding himself unable to ignore the indescribable sensations of Dan underneath him, surrounding him, begging and whimpering and calling Phil’s name.

 

He feels so fucking _good,_ and every time Phil glances down at his face, his body, anything at all, he is reminded of just how excruciatingly hot Dan Howell is, how gorgeous he looks all sweaty and helpless and vulnerable.

 

“Unngh, Phil,” Dan whines, head tossing side to side, “I need to… can I touch myself?”

 

“Not yet.” Phil pants still holding Dan's wrists firmly. His voice is husky as he fucks into Dan, hard now, hips snapping back and forth, “Fuck, Dan. You’re incredible. Spread your legs for me a little… that’s it.”

 

Dan moans obscenely, and Phil knows – though perhaps he shouldn’t – that it’s because Dan loves it when Phil talks to him like that, when he orders him about or tells him how gorgeous he is.

 

Well, he might as well continue with it, if that’s what Dan wants.

 

“Get on top for me, Dan.” Phil tells him softly but firmly, pulling out quickly and manoeuvring himself over to sit with his back against the headboard again. “Come on, gorgeous, climb on top.”

 

Dan obliges instantly, heaving himself up and over towards Phil, then clambering onto his lap, sinking down onto his cock once more.

 

They both groan, and Phil takes hold of Dan’s dick, starting to jerk him in fast, precise movements, using the precome Dan is pouring out in abundance to lubricate his movements.

 

"Ungh, that's it," Phil says as he encourages Dan to move with his hips, both of them moving together as Phil runs a gentle hand over Dan's waist, showing him he's doing a good job. "You feel amazing. Move a little faster, yeah." Dan moans brokenly and does as he's told, spearing himself on Phil’s cock over and over, hands braced on Phil’s shoulders.

 

“Oh, _Christ_ … on a _boat,_ I’m gonna come, Phil.”

 

“M-me too.”

 

“Come inside me?”

 

Phil has no strength or logic to argue with him. “Okay.”

 

Without warning, Dan smashes their lips together, messily, clumsily, but neither of them mind. It’s all tongue and desperation, and Dan is moaning through it, his hips circling one particular spot, indicating Phil has found a certain spot inside of him - has hit the jackpot, so to speak.

 

“Oh, fucking hell, right there Phil, _fuck-_ ”

 

Phil pushes himself as far into Dan as he can manage in this position, aiming for that one precise spot, listening to Dan’s moans, feeling the scrape of his fingernails across his shoulders.

 

And then, Dan is coming over his fist, his whole body shuddering with it, so much so that Phil winds an arm around his waist to hold him steady.

 

His moans of ecstasy sound fractured and broken, but Phil just keeps ploughing into him, wanting to work him through it. After a long period of tremors, Dan relaxes slightly, and that’s when Phil lets himself slip over the edge too, his own release flooding Dan’s insides, making the younger boy squirm even more.

 

When it’s over, Dan kisses him, and Phil grabs the back of his head, wanting to hold him there for as long as Dan will stay.

 

* * *

 

 

“So…” Phil tries conversationally after they’ve both undergone a fairly exhausting cleanup session - glitter, it turns out, is a bitch to scrub off - and are lying beside one another in bed. “Good birthday?”

 

Dan turns to Phil and grins sleepily. “ _Amazing_ birthday.”

 

“I still can’t believe you got on that stripper pole.” Phil says, shaking his head in wonder.

 

“I can’t believe the strippers let me stay up there for as long as I did.” Dan agrees. “I was _awful._ ”

 

Phil chuckles. “You weren’t _that_ bad.”

 

Dan gives Phil a ‘look’. “Phil, I tried to climb to the top of it and ended up falling off stage.”

 

Phil splutters a laugh, remembering Dan's yelp of terror as he'd fallen. “Okay, well maybe it’s not the best career choice for you… but I liked it.”

 

That was probably pretty obvious, though, Phil thinks to himself. Because ten minutes into Dan’s pole dance, Phil had clambered on stage to kiss his face off. That’s when the strippers had kicked them off the poles for the night.

 

Dan laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. God, he’s beautiful.

 

“What about you, though?” Dan asks, and Phil looks confusedly at him. “I’m still getting over you dragging me to the bar and demanding the girls that they let you do ‘birthday body shots’ off me.”

 

Phil raises a hand to his mouth, eyes widening. “Fuck, I’d forgotten that.”

 

Dan laughs at his expression, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, you didn’t do a very good job. About half of the shots went down my pants or soaked my shirt.”

 

“Hey, I removed them for you didn’t I?” Phil says cheekily, winking at him.

 

Dan laughs a lot at that. “Touché.” He’s silent for a moment. “Where did the glitter come from?”

 

“Oh, the strippers threw a load of it over you when you were pole dancing.” Phil explains. “They found you pretty entertaining too.”

 

Dan nods, still looking confused. “Then… why are you covered in glitter?”

 

This time, it’s Phil’s turn to give Dan a ‘look’. “That might be from one of the many times you climbed on my lap to make out with me.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen a little. “Oh.”

 

They both laugh, but it’s a little forced now, because the Birthday Sex has happened, and this is over for another six months or so. In the morning, they’ll have to stop talking about this night for a while.

 

Phil feels the happy, lovely, warm feeling inside of him slowly dissipating as he thinks about this, and for the thousandth time he wonders why Dan won’t just consider giving their relationship another try.

 

But this is the way he wants it, clearly.

 

“Well,” Dan says, reaching over to switch off the bedside light, “it looks like the last rule I wrote on the post-it might have been necessary to implement after all.”

 

“You think?” Asks Phil, trying not to sound too despondent even though he’s already thinking about sneaking out of this bed at 6am, because waking up next to Dan and not being able to kiss him, after he's spent the whole night doing just that, might be enough to kill him. “What’s happened in Vegas that needs to stay here? Aside from the obvious.”

 

“The pole dancing…” Dan says sleepily.

 

“The body shots.” Phil lists helpfully.

 

“Lola’s lap dance.”

 

“Stumbling into that stripper’s champagne room as she and that guy were-”

 

“Yep! Let’s leave that memory behind for sure. Oh, and what about you assaulting Lola?”

 

“What?!” Phil exclaims.

 

“You don’t remember? When you were telling me which lap dancer to pick and you viciously smacked her in the ass.” Phil grabs his pillow and whacks Dan in the head with it. “Ow! You can’t do that Phil it’s my-”

 

“Nope.” Phil interrupts him, grabbing his phone and showing Dan the screen, wincing as the light of it pierces through the darkness. “It’s three thirty-two. Your birthday is over, Danny boy.”

 

“Aw, damn it.”

 

“Night, Dan.” Phil says with a sigh, settling back onto his pillow.

 

“Night, Philly. Can't wait for January." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources: 
> 
> Phil films Dan in bed for a video.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2012), "I Sleepwalked" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGn0pm4iRn4, 2:14.
> 
> Dan states that he and Phil stayed in Caesar's Palace whilst in Las Vegas.  
> \- Howell, Dan; Lester, Phil (2015), "The Amazing Book Is Not On Fire" [book], p. 215.


	4. Phil's Twenty-Sixth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering something uncomfortably kinky about himself during all of this was never part of Dan's plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I have nothing against Catrific, I promise.

30th January, 2013 (Phil is 26)

 

Dan is on Skype when Phil returns to the flat.

 

He’s been waiting all day for Phil to return, one ear cocked for the sound of the door shutting despite the fact he’s wearing headphones. As soon as he hears the unmistakeable noise of Phil opening and slamming the front door, he sits up straight, eyes darting towards the sound.

 

“…you okay?” Cat asks, her eyebrow raising.

 

Dan turns back to the screen, distracted. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I think Phil just got home.”

 

Any other day, the sight of Cat in her pyjamas on Skype might have held Dan’s interest. Her baggy t-shirt is slipping off one tanned shoulder, and her dark hair falls messily about her neck.

 

She looks beautiful, even propped against her pink pillows, makeup off and holding a one-eyed teddy bear under one arm. Normally, Dan would keep her online as long as possible, coax her into showing him a bit more skin with flirty smiles and maybe even a striptease of his own.

 

Not tonight, though.

 

“Ah,” Cat says, nodding knowingly, “I’ll let you see to the birthday boy then. I’m sure you’re gonna wanna give your bestie a birthday hug.”

 

Dan scoffs at her, trying to hide his blush. “Pfft. We’re _men_ , Cat.” He says sarcastically. “I’ll give him a birthday fistbump, obviously.”

 

Cat laughs into her teddy bear. “Well, I’ll let you get on with it, then. Just let me tell him a quick ‘happy birthday’ first.”

 

Dan hesitates, feeling strange about this request. He can’t exactly refuse, though. Just as he’s dithering, Phil walks into the living room, shrugging his coat off.

 

“Hey.” He says, a touch despondently. He glances at the laptop in front of Dan, a realisation dawning in his eyes as he takes in the headphones, the computer, Dan’s mildly concerned expression. “Hey, Cat!”

 

Dan takes his headphones off, ripping the cord out of the laptop. He bites his lip as he turns the screen towards Phil. Cat immediately starts waving manically.

 

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” She sings, quite astoundingly off-key. “Happy birthday dear Phi-il, happy birthday to you!”

 

Phil laughs, and if Dan wasn’t so familiar with Phil’s… everything, he might not realise how forced it is.

 

“Thanks!” Phil says, expertly injecting enthusiasm into his voice like the Saint he is.

 

“Have you had a good day?” Cat asks him, grinning.

 

“Yeah, really good.” Phil answers, nodding. “I met my brother and his girlfriend in town for a few drinks. I had a cocktail with marshmallows in it!”

 

“Aw, that’s cute.” Cat says. “And now you get a whole evening with Dan!”

 

Phil chuckles, eyeing the floor suddenly. “Yeah, God help me.”

 

“Dick.” Dan murmurs fondly.

 

Phil glances up, catches his eye; Dan’s smile fades pretty fast when he notices the upset in his best friend’s expression.

 

“Well, I’d better let you two get on with your evening.” Cat says brightly, and a part of Dan wants to giggle because she has no idea of what they're about to do with their evening. Another, guiltier part of him wants to be sick. “Whatever it is you guys have planned. What do two twenty-something year old guys do by themselves on their birthdays, anyway?”

 

This time Dan does let out a splutter, unable to help himself. Phil stares at him in amazement.

 

“Watch anime, force Dan to make me coffee and fall asleep browsing Twitter, probably.” Phil answers, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes, though.

 

Cat nods, laughing. “Sounds like a party! Wish I could join you.”

 

“So do we.” Phil smoothly lies. Dan can hear the hollow, false tone of his voice even above his own sudden attack of uncontrollable giggling.

 

“I don’t know what Dan is up to off-camera but it is clearly hilarious, so I’ll sign off now before I find out too much.” Cat says loudly, and Dan turns the screen back towards him, finally managing to stop the laughter.

 

“Okay, night.” Dan says, waving into the tiny camera.

 

“Night, baby.” Cat says a little softer, and because he’s hypersensitive to Phil’s every movement, Dan feels the tension in his best friend’s shoulders upon hearing that. “I miss you.”

 

“Miss you too.” Dan mumbles, glancing across at Phil, who is slumping down on the sofa, looking drained.

 

“I swear I'm jumping on a plane to come out an see you as soon as I scrounge up the cash.” Cat says, touching her hand to the screen.

 

“Can’t wait.” Dan tells her through gritted teeth.

 

He doesn't bother mentioning that she says that every night, because it'll only result in five more minutes of her swearing that this time she really means it. He really needs her to sign off now. It's far too hard to be all couple-y with her while Phil’s in the room, listening to every word. Not to mention, he'd really rather get on with the rest of the evening, and Cat probably shouldn't be present for that. 

 

“Talk tomorrow, night night.” Cat says, then blows him a kiss.

 

“Night.” Dan says, and pretends to catch it.

 

It’s cheesy as heck, and he hates doing it, but Cat tells him off if he doesn’t play along, and he needs to get off Skype now.

 

Cat smiles in approval, then clicks the end call button.

 

Dan breathes a sigh of relief once her face disappears from the monitor. He swivels in his chair, turning towards Phil, who’s scrolling through his phone. 

 

“Hey.” Dan says to break the silence.

 

Phil glances up, one eyebrow raised. “…Hi.”

 

Dan smiles at him. “Happy birthday.”

 

He's allowed to say it. He hasn't seen Phil all day; he'd left this morning to meet his family while Dan was still asleep. Dan is trying not to feel put out by this; he did sleep in until noon today, after all. Besides, Phil is here now, and that's what matters. He's spending his birthday evening with Dan, alone, like normal. So it all works out. 

 

Phil tries to smile back, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. “Thanks.”

 

There’s a pregnant pause. Dan shifts in his seat; Phil scrolls through his phone.

 

“So,” Dan says, trying to sound conversational. “It’s ten. We’ve got two hours of your birthday left. Wanna watch a film?”

 

Dan means it as a joke. It’s Phil’s birthday. Obviously they aren’t going to be watching a film right now. But instead of laughing, Phil just glances at their DVD collection and shrugs.

 

“Not really. I’ve seen them all a billion times.”

 

Dan is unsure of what to say. He can’t think of an un-awkward way to bring up their arrangement, so he decides to just dive straight in and suggest giving Phil a birthday blowjob instead. Might as well get the show on the road, he supposes, opening his mouth to do just that.

 

“Okay, well how about-”

 

“Actually,” Phil interrupts, miming a very fake-looking yawn, “I think I’m gonna just go to bed.” Dan stares at him, flummoxed. Is he serious? He watches, disbelieving, as Phil hauls himself up off the sofa and heads for the hall. “Night, Dan.”

 

_What?_

 

* * *

 

 

It was unexpected, the thing with Cat. Vidcon was a crazy, unprecedented adventure for which neither Dan nor Phil were remotely prepared, especially straight after Vegas.

 

They both arrived in LA exhausted, broke, and with a tension between them that they couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard Dan tried to ignore it. And Cat was… well, she was a welcome distraction from everything. After a week of pretending that the night of Dan’s birthday hadn’t happened, and trying to ignore the hurt, injured puppy look on Phil’s face ever since, Cat was like a life raft of happy, lovely ‘other’.

 

She greeted them like lifelong friends, looking gorgeous and glamorous as she wrapped them up in hugs and introduced them to the white-toothed, tanned Los Angeles YouTubers that Dan has secretly ached to be since he first loaded up the homepage.

 

When he ran into Smosh for the first time, and they greeted him warmly, praising him for his funny videos, Dan near-fainted on the spot.

 

He tactfully left out the fact that he used to wear a Smosh t-shirt to bed every night. At least until after he was drunk.

 

It was different to the previous year in a big way. Word had spread about the first ever YouTube convention, and fans showed up in their thousands. Dan’s left wrist ached from signing photos of himself and Phil, and his mouth hurt from smiling in all the selfies.

 

Most of the fans were there for Phil, obviously, but a fair few called themselves ‘Danasaurs’ as well as ‘Phillions’. Phil’s arm rested a little too rigidly atop Dan’s shoulders as they posed for photos, and by the end of the first day, Dan was glad to step out of the spotlight.

 

Phil went back to being quiet and a little off with him, and Dan gulped down the guilt that came with Phil walking sadly back to his separate hotel room as they parted ways to get ready for the evening party.

 

Dan barely spoke to Phil that night, which didn’t go unnoticed by their friends, unfortunately.

 

“Did you and Phil have a fight or something?” Cat asked him at one point in her gorgeous American accent, her face twisted with concern.

 

“Why’d you say that?” Dan had answered, tactfully avoiding the question whilst shovelling crisps into his mouth.

 

“Dan,” Cat had said with her eyebrows raised, “you two usually can’t be separated with a crowbar, and now you’re on the opposite side of the room to him.”

 

Dan glanced over the enormous room at where Phil stood, awkwardly on the periphery of a gaggle of people Dan knew he didn’t particularly warm to. He shrugged, not really wanting to elaborate. What on earth could he say?

 

_‘Oh, yes Cat, it’s just that we have this bi-annual sex treaty but Phil can’t separate sex from emotion so it always ends up with me viciously stabbing him in the heart and it takes him a while to get over it.’_

 

“It’s just… close quarters. Plus we're both super tired and broke from Vegas. But we’re fine.” Dan said eventually without looking Cat in the eyes. Surprisingly, she didn’t call him out on the obvious lie.

 

“Well, honestly I’m a little happy about it.” Cat says, taking Dan by surprise as she slips her arm onto his shoulder, her silver bangles tinkling in his ear. “Do you realise how difficult it is to get you alone, Dan?”

 

Cat shifts closer, her inviting, mischievous smile impossible to mistake for anything else than what it is. Dan laughs nervously; he hasn’t been flirted with for a long time.

 

He feels eyes on him, suddenly, and turns his head a fraction to meet Phil’s gaze across the crowded room. Oh God, Dan thinks, his heart sinking as the guilt overwhelms his body, suffocating him in feelings of self-hatred.

 

He truly is a horrible, horrible person. Because he’s about to do this. He’s about to give in. He'd do anything to escape from underneath the suffocating quilt of Phil’s intense, all-consuming love. 

 

He urges Phil to watch his next actions, despite loathing himself for it.

 

Why must he be like this? He could so easily just turn away from Cat right now, walk across the room to Phil, stand beside him in this room where they know barely anyone. Even if it's just so he wouldn't be standing by himself, forced to watch his worst nightmare unfold before his very eyes. 

 

Dan doesn't do this, of course. He can't. It's too much. Instead he smiles his obligatory selfie-smirk. He leans towards Cat. He moves a hand to her waist. 

 

He thinks of Phil, watching him. 

 

“And why would you want to get me alone, Cat?” Dan asks in a low voice, laced with flirtation. 

 

She grins.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s bedroom door is an obstacle that Dan despises. He’s sure that the amount of time Phil spends in his room with it closed has gone up significantly in the last few months. Whenever Dan wants to hang out, watch anime, or ask what Phil wants for dinner, he’s always in his room with the door shut – a very clear ‘leave me alone’.

 

So Dan has to knock politely, call his name, and wait for Phil to deign to open the door and find out what he’s hanging around for.

 

It’s not only irritating, it’s humiliating, and were it not for Phil’s sure-to-be protestations, he’d have had that door off its hinges by now.

 

Tonight, of course, is supposed to be an exception to all this pussying about, knocking on doors instead of opening them, tiptoeing about the flat in case he trips over the wrong thing and sends either of them freefalling into the hideous mess of their current relationship.

 

So, in this mindset, Dan dithers for around three minutes debating what to do, and then decides to walk down the hall to Phil’s door. He opens it without knocking.

 

Phil is of course changing into his pyjamas, and is in fact shirtless in the centre of the room. Dan’s mouth drops open, and Phil yelps, bringing his t-shirt up to cover his chest.

 

“S-sorry…” Dan stammers out, regretting his bold entrance immediately. “I just…”

 

“Dan, get out!” Phil cries, and Dan stares at him, shocked.

 

A moment passes, and Phil just stares at him incredulously.

 

“No.” Dan replies eventually.

 

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Phil asks as if Dan’s gone insane. “I’m changing!”

 

Dan swallows, standing his ground. He's in the right here. Tonight, he's allowed to come in without knocking. He's entitled to see Phil without his shirt. Has Phil forgotten about their rule? That seems very unlikely, but perhaps possible. He has had a few drinks after all.

  

Quietly, without breaking eye contact with Phil, Dan closes the door behind him. Phil stares like he’s gone insane.

 

Dan quirks a smile at him, trying to look enticing, though his nerves are almost definitely showing through. He’s not imagining Phil’s hesitance here. Something is different this time around, Phil isn’t as into this as he usually is. He can't have _forgotten_ , that'd be absurd, surely. Their whole year pivots around these birthday trysts. Well, Dan's year certainly does. Given that Phil is still - as far as Dan knows - pining after him like a heartbroken kitten, he'd guess that Phil's year is pretty Birthday-Sex-centric as well. 

 

With marginal trepidation, Dan closes the distance between them in three slow steps, stopping when they’re inches from one another. He brings his hands up to ghost over Phil’s bare shoulders, which are tensed and rigid.

 

“You seem pretty stressed.” Dan says in a voice that barely conceals his knowing smile. He squeezes the tendons running between Phil’s neck and shoulders. “Want me to work out some of the tension?”

 

Suddenly, and quite harshly, Dan finds himself stumbling backwards, propelled by the force of Phil’s hard shove.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Phil demands, apparently incredulous.

 

Affronted, Dan quirks an eyebrow at him in mild disbelief. “Um, did you forget the date?”

 

Phil outright laughs then, shaking his head as he turns from Dan. He pulls on his pyjama top. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Dan just stares, bewildered. “What? It’s your birthday, Phil. Did you forget?”

 

Phil sighs, removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, exasperated. “No, I didn’t forget.”

 

“Right, well did you forget that birthdays mean something very specific to you and I?” Dan enquires, raising his eyebrows even further. What on earth is going on here? Why is Phil acting like  _Dan_ is the one who needs to explain his behaviour? He's just playing by their own rules, after all. 

 

“That was before!” Phil cries, one hand gesticulating wildly into the air.

 

Dan follows the movement with his eyes for a moment, trying to process what Phil means. He comes up blank. “Before what?”

 

Phil stares at Dan as though he can’t believe he’s even asking. When he next speaks, his voice is defeated and thin. “Before you got a _girlfriend_ , Dan.”

 

The word sticks in Phil’s throat, coming out with a crack in it. Dan flinches at the sound. He’s always hated that word. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. There’s so much attached to it, so much pressure and scrutiny both from the person and from others.

 

Yet another label he has, in the past, plastered on his mess of a personality, forever desperately trying to cover up the wide, dark cracks in it. It never works. The cracks always show through. 

 

“Why does it matter?” Dan asks, irritated with this irrelevant argument.

 

He and Phil have an arrangement. It’s nothing to do with Dan’s other arrangements. Or Phil’s other arrangements, come to that. Though Phil doesn’t seem to have any, and Dan doesn’t particularly want to think about him having any, to be honest. 

 

Phil huffs an astonished laugh. “Are you joking? I’m not going to help you cheat on her. Cat’s my friend too, you know.”

 

 _Oh,_ Dan thinks, understanding a bit more now. It’s about cheating. Phil has always been a loyal little pup. He has no time for cheaters, and has mentioned this to Dan on occasion. Phil's disgust for cheaters had been a very minor reason why Dan felt so suffocated in their relationship. Not because he wanted to cheat on Phil or anything, it’s just that the idea of Phil despising him forever if he ever so much as slipped up in that regard… that had been a lot of pressure for a nineteen year old.

 

Dan smiles a little in relief.

 

For a moment there he’d been concerned that Phil had actually stopped wanting…

 

But, of course, that won’t happen. Not any time soon, anyway.

 

If the only objection to tonight's shenanigans Phil has is that Dan is being unfaithful to Cat, he's pretty sure he can work around it. Phil has always had excellent morals - sticking to them, however, is a little trickier for Phil, Dan finds. 

 

He sidles back over towards Phil, fisting his hands in the older boy’s pyjama top. “She doesn’t have to know, Phil. She’ll never know.”

 

Phil makes a noise of disgust, but he doesn’t push Dan away this time. “You’re willing to cheat on her just to fuck me once every six months?”

 

“We have a pact, Phil.” Dan says sombrely, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m just honouring that.”

 

Phil stares at him levelly, breathing through his nose. Dan can practically hear the cogs inside his beautiful mind spinning at a hundred miles per hour, trying to think through what Dan is saying.

 

“What do you get out of this, Dan?” Phil says eventually, and his voice is quiet now, though not entirely absent of the hatred and scorn flavouring it moments before.

 

Phil's shoulders slump; the expression he wears can only be described as one of defeat.

 

Strangely, Dan doesn’t feel triumphant, despite realising he’s essentially won here. There’s always a tinge of guilt accompanying the moments where Dan persuades Phil into these sordid little trysts, but it’s a lot worse this time. He can tell how much Phil hates himself for being so weak in the face of Dan’s manipulation. It’s so easy to see the pure frustration seeping out of his best friend’s skin, knowing that he is unable to deny himself the one thing he is aware is the worst for him, yet he wants most of all.

 

Dan is more than aware that, by most people's accounts, he is a terrible person for what he's doing to Phil. He's not blind. He can see as plain as day that putting Phil through emotional torture just to manage his own fucked-up, commitment-phobic attitude towards relationships is essentially sadistic.

 

But knowing all of this doesn't mean he's going to behave any better.

 

He just can’t not have Phil again forever. The idea of _having_ him forever scares the shit out of him, but to not have him is inconceivable; Dan doesn’t want to so much as entertain the thought.

 

Instead of trying to pointlessly explain this to Phil, Dan smiles, leans in close and whispers: “You.”

 

A protest starts to form on the tip of Phil’s tongue, but Dan swoops in fast, kissing it away before it can manifest. Phil is unresisting but passive, his lips pliant and soft as Dan pushes against them with his own.

 

It’s okay, Dan tells his own suddenly panicking heartbeat, just give it a few seconds, he’ll respond, he _will_ …

 

Dan moves his hands to the hem of Phil’s t-shirt, fingers teasing underneath, trailing over the bare skin above his waistband. Like clockwork, Phil responds at once, any puny resolve he might have tried to put up crumbling against Dan’s insistent yet patient attack.

 

Phil makes a small noise at the back of his throat as he starts to kiss back; Dan tries not to liken it to a sob, though that’s the only appropriate description that springs to mind. 

 

Phil’s arms are encircling Dan’s waist, pulling them so tightly together that Dan thinks he might suffocate, not that he’s even considering pulling away. Phil feels so good against him, so solid and sure, like a warm pillar of home, soft to the touch, sweet on the inhale, but slightly sinful with his teasing tongue.

 

Dan smiles against his mouth, his entire body filling with that incredible sensation of safety, familiarity and delicious euphoria that he barely ever gets to experience anymore.

 

His mind casts back to the last kiss he received, in LA, Cat’s glossed lips pressed on his, her hair tickling his jaw as they petted each other drunkenly in Dan’s hotel room. He’d dragged her in there after he’d had too much to drink and realised it would be horrific to try and sleep there alone, knowing Phil was down the hall, heartbroken and miserable.

 

Phil bites down on Dan’s lip then, pretty hard, making him gasp. All thoughts of Cat fly far away for now, and Dan is grounded firmly back in the present, anchored by Phil’s suddenly insistent grabby hands, which claw at his waist and squeeze tightly.

 

He’d been holding back, then, Dan supposes, mildly intrigued by this new, pushier Phil that’s so starkly different to the meek little guy that Dan had kissed moments before.

 

All at once Phil’s hands are on his ass, gripping tightly, and then Dan’s being lifted, which honestly baffles him enough that he breaks the kiss, grabbing hold of Phil's shoulders for dear life. He yelps as his feet leave the carpet, eyes flying open as Phil, with seemingly inhuman strength, picks him up and wraps Dan’s legs round his waist.

 

Dan is certain he’s about to fall, that he’s way, way too heavy for Phil Lester, who is possibly the only person he knows of that does less exercise than him.

 

Phil doesn’t even falter, however. Dan breaks their lips apart in fear, glancing at the retreating ground nervously, but Phil just attaches his own lips to Dan’s collarbone instead, holding Dan firmly in his grasp.

 

“The fuck? How’d you turn into the hulk all of a sudden?” Dan babbles anxiously, hands still gripping Phil’s shoulders. “Ah!”

 

Phil bites down on the base of his neck, and Dan jerks in his grip.

 

“Shut up.”

 

Dan blinks in surprise at Phil’s tacit shut down. He sounded kind of pissed off, yet he’s continuing the assault of lips, teeth and tongue on Dan’s neck as though nothing is wrong.

 

All at once, Dan feels Phil start to move, and grips tighter, scared for his life. Phil walks them over to his bed, and then – quite harshly, Dan can’t help but notice – throws Dan down onto it.

 

“Hey!” Dan cries out indignantly, but his protest falls away when he notices Phil’s expression.

 

His best friend does not seem particularly pleased right now, considering he’s getting what he wants most. In fact, he looks irritated, or worse, angry.

 

His mouth is set in a hard line, and his eyes aren’t full of the soft, fond look they usually are. Instead, they fix Dan with a glare.

 

Dan shifts about on the bed, heart beginning to pound with nerves. What is he supposed to make of this?

 

“Shirt off.” Phil commands.

 

Dan stares at him in disbelief, then huffs a laugh. “’Please’ might be nice.”

 

Phil glares harder, then smirks, crawling onto the bed. “I don’t remember manners being part of the rules.” He kneels before Dan, sliding one hand up over his thigh. “I get whatever I want, right? I get to tell you what to do, and you have to do it.”

 

Dan swallows, eyes fixed on Phil with trepidation. “Uh… yeah, I guess.”

 

Phil nods, squeezing Dan’s thigh hard enough that it hurts a little. “So what are you waiting for? Shirt off, slut.”

 

Dan’s mouth falls open at the slur. “What did you call me?!”

 

“What, you think you aren’t?” Phil asks coolly, entirely unfazed by Dan’s reaction.

 

“You think you’re fooling me by making out I’m the one that wants this, not you?” Phil continues as he places his other hand on Dan’s other thigh, then pulls him forwards roughly, landing Dan sprawled out on his back in one sharp move.

 

Dan can only watch, petrified of what Phil’s about to say, as the older man leans over him, one hand ghosting up and down his torso, teasing over the bulge in his jeans.

 

“I know you’re desperate for this, Dan.” Phil drawls. “It’s no use pretending you’re not. You came in here tonight to coax me into having sex with you again because you’re craving it. You’ve been craving it ever since Vegas. It’s like a constant ache inside of you, remembering how good it feels when I touch you, isn’t it?”

 

Phil’s hand begins unbuttoning Dan’s jeans, impossibly slow. Dan feels like he’s on fire. Everything Phil is saying… it’s cutting right into his core. It’s like Phil can see underneath his skin, can x-ray past the hundreds of false layers Dan builds up over his most shameful, hidden desires.

 

He should have known better than to underestimate Phil like he has been. He should have known that Phil, who knows him better than anyone, who is possibly the smartest person Dan has ever met, would be able to see Dan’s true colours.

 

Phil doesn't buy Dan's oh-so-casual approach to the Birthday Sex stuff. He knows that Dan needs this Birthday Sex thing just as much as he himself needs it. Heck, he's probably always known. Ever since Dan first suggested it, Dan would bet.

 

Crap. 

 

That makes everything so much more complicated.

 

With this knowledge, Phil is, theoretically, capable of manipulating Dan, too. He can use this information to get Dan right where he wants him. In fact, that appears to be what he’s doing right now. But... where is it, exactly, that Phil wants him?

 

Dan's pretty sure his face is white as a sheet by this point, as the realisation that he's essentially just coerced a very clever Phil into angry sex dawns upon him. He is quite literally at Phil's mercy right now, and Phil knows it. He's right, Dan has been aching for this day since June. He's thought about it almost every night. He's imagined countless possible scenarios, he's counted the days off on his calendar.

 

He stares at Phil, speechless in the face of what's happening. He's blindsided by Phil’s anger, which was the one thing he'd never factored in to his filthy daydreams. All the brutal things he's done to Phil since Vegas... ignoring his weeping from next door, getting with Cat right in front of him, dangling their Skype conversations before him, shutting down any conversations about his birthday whenever Phil brings it up. He's been playing with fire for months, and he has a feeling he's about to get scorched.  

 

What's Phil going to do with him tonight? 

 

_Slut._

 

Dan blinks, wondering if he could possibly have just heard Phil call him that. 

 

“You tried to kill the ache with someone else…” Phil continues, oblivious to Dan's revelation. His deft, clever fingers, begin inching Dan’s zipper down bit by bit, torturously slow. “But it just wasn’t the same, was it?”

 

Dan screws his eyes shut, hating the truth in those words. Hazy images of a hot, sweaty, fumbling night under the covers of his hotel bed with Cat flash across his brain. She’d been so beautiful to behold in the dim light of the hotel window - all glinting golden skin, rose petal breasts, a tiny curved waist – but the fireworks that erupt inside of Dan each time Phil kisses his naked body were dull little sparks when Cat’s fingers brushed his skin.

 

Her moans fell flat to his ears, her long hair choked him and was the wrong shade of brown. She didn’t touch him in the right places, or how he needed, because she didn’t know his body. She was passive when he needed her to be passionate, she was feisty when he needed softness.

 

It had been all wrong, but he had lied to himself that it had been perfect. How does Phil know that she didn’t begin to compare to him? Is he guessing? Or is he more intuitive than Dan gives him credit for?

 

Phil’s hand is pushing itself inside of Dan’s jeans now, and Dan thinks he might die from how long it’s taking for Phil to touch him properly. He hadn't even noticed how hard he'd gotten until now, but the treacly quality of Phil's words seem to be travelling straight to Dan's cock. 

 

“So you come in here and coerce me into fucking you again, because you can’t help yourself, can you Daniel?” Phil asks, sounding bitter. “No matter how cruel it is to ask this of me, no matter how selfish.”

 

Phil’s palm presses against the bulge of Dan’s erection, and even through his underwear the sensation is indescribable. Dan bucks into the touch, moaning loudly.

 

“I-I’m sorry," Dan chokes out, hoping that it's what Phil wants to hear. "I just-”

 

Phil squeezes roughly, cutting the apology away from Dan’s lips. “You can start apologising by admitting to what you truly are, Dan.”

 

Dan’s eyes fly open, locking with Phil’s. He can’t believe Phil is asking this of him, honestly. He must be furious. It's like he's getting some sort of weird revenge. Perhaps Dan’s been treating him too awfully. He knew, of course, that the Cat thing would be a devastating blow to Phil, especially right after their night together in Vegas. There’s only so much a guy can take before he snaps, Dan supposes.

 

Is this what it looks like when Phil snaps?

 

Well, snapping be damned, Dan is not going to label himself as anything derogatory, thank you very much. Sure, Phil has worked out that Dan is a desperate, pathetic excuse for a person, so determined not to lose Phil entirely that he created a ‘pact’ so that he’d always have an excuse to try it on with his ex. But Dan also knows that Phil is still in love with him. Even if Dan refuses to do as Phil says right now, there’s no way he’d pass up an opportunity to be intimate with Dan again, even if he’s less than happy about the circumstances.

 

Dan seals his lips together, glaring at Phil. They’ve reached a stalemate, so it would seem.

 

Then, Phil smirks at him, shrugging as he innocently removes his hand from Dan’s crotch. “Or…” Phil teases, knowingly. “We could just have sex… I’ll give you a quick handjob and a kiss or two and you can suck me off. That should get us both through the next six months, right?”

 

“You bastard.” Dan spits before he can think about his own words.

 

Phil smiles infuriatingly. “What’s wrong? That’s well within the Birthday Sex guidelines, especially as it’s _my_ birthday and I get to decide. Besides…” He yawns, stretching his arms high. “I’m pretty tired. Might as well get it over and done with.”

 

Dan slumps down into the mattress, sensing his own imminent defeat. He knows Phil has won here.

 

A handjob – during which (due to Phil’s teasing and the fact it’s almost been six months since Phil touched him last) Dan would last approximately fifteen seconds, he’s sure – would be torture to have as the only thing keeping him going until June. Cat is in America, so there’d be no help from her, and Dan would have nothing but the sorry excuse of his own hand, some online-ordered lube and the brief memory of Phil jerking him off to sustain him until they were – by Dan’s own orders – allowed to do it again.

 

He would drive himself mad with sexual frustration, he’s sure.

 

If he’s got to last until his birthday, he needs the sex tonight to be incredible, in order for the memory of it to tide him over. He needs Phil to fuck him properly, to make him see stars, to pound him into the mattress – whatever.

 

Phil knows this, too.

 

“Fine.” Dan whispers eventually, eyes still closed. Resentment pours out of his every cell for the boy on the bed with him.

 

“What was that?” Phil asks infuriatingly. Dan’s eyes fly open and fix him with a glare.

 

“I said _fine._ Let’s do it your way. What do you want from me?”

 

Phil grins evilly, all but rubbing his hands together with glee. “I want you to admit what you are. And remove your shirt.”

 

Dan grits his teeth, blood rushing into his cheeks. God, this is humiliating.

 

“Do you get off on calling people names in bed or something?” He asks crossly, pulling off his t-shirt so forcefully that it gets tangled around his neck briefly.

 

Phil shrugs, watching Dan’s struggles with a satisfied expression. “Not sure, really. I’ve never tried it. But you’re being a bitch, so I’d like to be able to call you one.”

 

Dan splutters at Phil’s casual tone as he says this. His t-shirt comes off, finally, and Dan throws it aside. It lands on Phil’s wooden chest at the end of his bed. Dan tries not to think of the cute things he knows are inside: Phil’s dressing up stuff, props he uses for videos, the cordless hammer drill.

 

His shoulders slump. Who the fuck is he kidding? He would do anything for this boy. He’d tell the whole street, the whole internet, the whole world he's a disgusting little cockslut if it would make Phil love him forever. If it meant they could always do this.

 

“I’m a slut.” Dan mumbles, cheeks burning. His eyes fixate on Phil’s bedclothes.

 

Phil edges towards him in his peripheral vision, and Dan feels a hand trail up his chest, all the way to his chin, which is tilted upwards, forcing their eyes to meet.

 

“Well that didn’t sound very convincing.” Phil admonishes, but pecks him on the nose.

 

Dan licks his lips, surveying Phil cautiously. He’s looking at Dan expectantly, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting.

 

Dan pauses, biting his lip. He feels as though Phil has flayed off his skin and exposed him to the cold January air in a sudden, surprise attack. Dan knows he’s been acting like a prize dickhead in the last few months since VidCon, but he hadn’t realised how transparent his actions were making him. Dan might do a decent job of fooling his family, his friends, his fans, heck even _himself_ that everything between him and Phil is fine, but he should have known he could never fool Phil. The guy knows him inside out, and he’s always been perceptive. Not to mention intuitive, to the point where sometimes Dan wonders if Phil’s psychic grandmother passed on a gene or two.

 

Phil has chosen the perfect punishment for Dan’s dickhead behaviour right now. The irony is enough to make Dan want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Because, of course, in a sense, he _is_ a slut for this. He’d sacrifice anything to have it, including his very best friend’s mental stability and happiness.

 

He’s a slut for Phil, and Phil fucking knows it.

 

So, Dan knows how to make this whole scenario convincing if he wants. Of course he does. But it’s humiliating. He would never do this for anyone normally in bed, it’s so far out of his comfort zone. But he’d do it for Phil, he realises quickly. He’d do it for Phil on his birthday.

 

If it will make him happy.

 

If it’s what he wants.

 

Those are the rules, after all, aren’t they?

 

Without letting himself think on it any further, Dan takes a shuddering breath in, then sits up so that he can sling a leg over Phil’s lap, straddling him. Phil barely reacts, but Dan can tell he’s holding his breath. He smiles at this snippet of knowledge, letting it spur him onwards.

 

He looks down at the older man, one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders.

 

Dan always used to pride himself on his acting ability. It’s time to put all those years of being the most obnoxious, pretentious little drama kid to use.

 

“Please, Phil,” Dan says softly, his voice practically a whimper, “please fuck me. I’m such a slut for you.” Dan grinds his hips down into Phil’s, eating up the answering groan Phil gives in response. Dan leans in close to whisper in his ear. “Only for you.”

 

Phil’s eyes widen, and Dan leans back just in time to watch as his best friend’s pupils dilate. Phil’s hands tighten on Dan’s waist, fingers digging into Dan’s bared skin.

 

Holy shit, this is actually working.

 

“You’re so right, Phil.” Dan continues, allowing himself to sink deeper into the feeling he’s suddenly awash with – knowing that he’s good at this, and that Phil likes it, and that, in a way, Dan does too. “This is all I fucking think about. Every time I see you I think about you fucking me senseless. I think about sucking your cock, about how good it feels when you put your hands on me, or your mouth, fuck…”

 

Right then, as though something snaps inside him, Phil growls, moving quickly. He pushes Dan backwards, laying him out on the bed, and pulls off his own t-shirt in one fluid movement.

 

Dan holds his breath, watching in rapture as Phil begins tugging at the waistband of his jeans, pulling them over his hips along with his underwear, until they’re off, thrown aside, and Dan is naked.

 

“Whore.” Phil practically snarls, making Dan’s breath hitch, and then Phil’s taking Dan’s nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently, tongue teasing over the nub.

 

Dan moans, the sensation all at once mindblowing and too much to bear. He fists his hand in Phil’s hair, unsure whether he wants to push the older boy away, or hold him in place.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Phil…” Dan chokes out, just as Phil decides to give Dan’s other nipple the same attention.

 

Dan is achingly hard by this point, and Phil has barely even touched him. He feels sinful; he and Phil have never done anything anywhere near this sordid. He’s trying to work out whether he likes hearing Phil calling him names or not, but it’s too difficult to muddle through his messy thoughts when everything Phil’s doing to him feels like hot, sinful bliss searing across his skin.

 

Dan whimpers as Phil bites at his nipple, his eyes stinging with tears. It feels incredible, but excruciating in a way Dan has never experienced.

 

“Phil!” Dan yelps, “Careful- ah!” And Phil, the sadist that he is, bites down again.

 

“Shut up, slut.” Phil tells him after a moment. “You want me to fuck you so well that you’ll be feeling it for weeks, right?”

 

Dan swallows, considering saying no to this - he’s still mildly unsure if this is hot or terrifying - but after a split second of contemplation, realises that would be fucking idiotic. He nods fervently instead.

 

“You want me to make you come so hard that you can imagine it every time you have boring cyber sex with your girlfriend, don’t you?”

 

Dan groans, his eyes rolling back into his head. How does Phil _know_ this stuff? Perhaps he and Cat haven’t been as discreet as they thought whilst Skyping at 2am.

 

“Yes, fuck.” Dan whispers, cheeks practically on fire at this point.

 

“Then shut up and do what I tell you.” Phil says sternly, the thick, low voice he speaks in going straight to Dan’s throbbing cock.

 

“Anything.” Dan finds himself saying.

 

He swallows the embarrassment he feels at having let that slip out. He’s just caught up in the moment, he tells himself. He means 'anything' in a hypothetical sense, obviously.

 

Phil licks his way up Dan’s chest, sucking softly on his neck and jaw until he reaches Dan’s ear. “Kiss me.”

 

The moment the instruction leaves Phil’s lips, Dan jumps to it, turning his face and sealing their lips together, his hands grabbing Phil’s stubble-grazed jaw, holding him still.

 

Phil kisses back with slightly too much fervour, betraying his own desperation, but Dan doesn’t care.

 

“Take off my jeans.” Phil commands, and Dan does, his hands shaking in the rush.

 

Weirdly, it’s kind of exhilarating having Phil order him about. He’s not sure why, but he finds himself wanting to obey, wanting to please, desperately. The desire to do as Phil asks is burning within him, almost as consuming as the urge to touch himself.

 

As a result of all his conflicting emotions, it takes Dan twice as long as normal to figure out the buttons and zips separating him from his goal, and Phil is just laying there watching him struggle, not even offering to help. Eventually they’re off, and Dan sits back on his haunches, patiently awaiting his next order.

 

“Suck me off, Dan.” Phil tells him in a low, gravelly voice, and Dan groans at the sound of it. Phil hardly ever says anything so vulgar, it’s like Dan is hearing something raw, something taboo; it’s scintillating.

 

It takes Dan seconds to pull Phil’s cock free of its underwear trappings, and he is pleased to find it hard and throbbing with want, flushed from the tip, and just as big as he remembers. Dan lowers his mouth to it at once, swirling his tongue around the head a few times, until Phil is cursing under his breath, gripping at Dan’s shoulders with his hand.

 

“Take it all in, slut.” Phil groans out, and Dan shivers. All of it? Phil knows that’s impossible, surely. Dan has often expressed his annoyance that he can’t do the things Phil can do, can’t swallow all of him because he’s enormous.

 

Nevertheless, he feels he has to try.

 

…Just because it’s Phil’s birthday. Of course.

 

He slides his mouth over the top of Phil’s cock, angling it first so that the head pushes against his cheek, stretching it obscenely. Phil moans, shifting about beneath him, struggling to keep his hips still.

 

“More, Dan. I know you can… _fuck_.” Phil’s teeth are clenched now, Dan can hear it in his voice. He pushes his mouth down further, the girth of Phil’s cock filling his mouth whole, the weight of him heavy on his tongue. “That’s it… further, come on.”

 

Dan is desperate. So fucking desperate to please Phil. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, he can’t tell where this urge is coming from, but it’s burning him up inside. He feels like if he can’t manage what Phil wants then he’ll have failed him, he’ll be not only a pathetic slut, but one that can’t even please the person he’s a slut for.

 

Just a short while ago, Dan could barely even think about calling himself a slut without flushing, and now, ten minutes in, it’s almost the opposite; now Dan feels that it’d be far more humiliating if he failed to fulfil the slut role Phil has given him.

 

He ploughs on, regardless, ignoring the pulsating ache of his own hardness in favour of attempting this feat. 

 

Phil is just so big, that’s the problem. Dan can feel him everywhere; he can’t believe he’s had all of Phil inside him before. Just the thought of that, now, makes his mind white out for a couple of seconds. He feels his cock twitch in avid interest. No wonder he craves it so much.

 

“Come on, Dan. A pretty slut like you can deepthroat me, can’t you?” Phil goads through gritted teeth, his fingernails digging crescent shaped marks into Dan’s shoulder.

 

Dan can feel Phil in his throat now; his eyes are watering, and the urge to cough is clouding his thoughts, but he doesn’t let himself. Phil is moaning now, and Dan moves up and down just a fraction, each noise Phil is making seeping into his skin.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Phil says, teeth gritting together as his fingers wind further into Dan’s hair. “So fucking good, Dan. Did you miss this, baby?”

 

Dan feels the words slice into him like knives, and he ‘mm’s’ loudly, making Phil gasp. God yes, he has missed this. Cat has been a beautiful, lovely distraction to keep him sane in the seemingly vast interim period between birthdays, but ultimately – nothing compares to this.

 

Absent-mindedly, Dan wonders if, as long as he does everything Phil says, Phil will fuck him tonight. The thought of it makes him ‘mmm’ again, longer this time, and he starts getting a little sloppy as he continues working his mouth on Phil’s cock.

 

Phil groans, seeming to like Dan’s lack of control a great deal, and pushes lightly on Dan’s head, urging him to take more. Well, Dan thinks, if that’s what the birthday boy wants, then Dan isn’t going to object. No matter if it is a virtually impossible task.

 

Dan takes a deep inhale through his nose, then focuses on relaxing his throat. He tucks his left thumb inside of his fist and squeezes – not that he’s been reading up on how to suppress his gag reflex in preparation for this night or anything – and allows Phil to guide his head down, slowly, letting the length of him slide inch by glorious inch further down his throat.

 

Phil’s hips stutter, and over the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears, Dan hears him let out a string of curse words vulgar enough to make a pornstar blush.

 

“Fuck, fuck, oh Dan…” Phil groans, thrusting up a little before seeming to gather control. Dan somehow manages not to choke (thanks pre-googled thumb-squeezing trick) and continues swallowing Phil down, his concentration levels so high he thinks he might pull some sort of brain muscle. “So perfect, Dan. My little cock whore.”

 

Dan blanches briefly at the slur, but finds, to his surprise, that it sends a little thrill through him. He sucks hungrily, validating that statement, and Phil comes at once, moaning long and loud, one hand still in Dan’s hair holding him in place.

 

Dan doesn’t mind, far from it. His eyes flutter as Phil comes straight down his throat, bypassing his tongue almost entirely. Dan just swallows it down, cock hanging heavy and thick with want between his own legs, so desperate for release. He doesn’t realise he’s moaning too until Phil finally stops, his noises replaced by laboured breathing.

 

Dan pulls off Phil slowly, being extra careful as he’s pretty sure his throat is going to be red raw from that, though he’s probably too high to feel the pain just yet.

 

Once Dan has removed his mouth from Phil, he sucks in a deep breath, only to immediately find the air knocked out of him as Phil grabs him by the shoulders and drags him up for a kiss.

 

Dan initially attempts to pull away – he must taste literally of nothing but come – but Phil doesn’t seem to care. His tongue plunders Dan’s mouth, and Dan just lets it happen, he’s exhausted, and too achingly hard to think about anything else.

 

Somehow, Phil rolls them over so that Dan is underneath him, and then finally, _finally,_ Phil’s hands are on him, Phil is sliding his tight fist over Dan’s cock, all while still kissing him.

 

Dan’s moan of ecstasy is so loud that he’s sure it must have come from a different source at first – he’s usually not so vocal in bed. He thrusts up into Phil’s hand, finding any place of Phil he can reach to grip onto. His fingernails are bitten back to their beds so there’s no chance of scratching Phil - though wouldn’t that be something – so he grips tightly to Phil’s back, sure it must be painful, but Phil doesn’t seem to care.

 

Dan's eyes are closed, so he doesn't think about what Phil is doing when his one of his hands leaves Dan's skin for a moment, but after a few mysterious noises - a drawer opening, a lid uncapping - the hand is back, cold and slippery as it pushes into the cleft between Dan's cheeks. Dan gasps into Phil's mouth, which just allows Phil to deepen the kiss. He spreads his legs wide, all too eager to assist Phil as he gropes blindly for Dan's entrance. 

 

Once he finds it, he wastes no time in plunging one slick finger inside; Dan groans, a guttural noise ripping from his throat. The sensation of Phil inside him, no matter which part, is indescribably hot. He thrusts down onto Phil's finger, turning his face to one side because he needs to _breathe_ , and Phil's kissing is not helping at the moment. 

 

Phil doesn't seem to mind; he mouths against Dan's neck, teeth scraping and biting as Dan squirms around his finger.

 

"Fuck, oh, _Phil_ -" 

 

"Want more, slut?" 

 

"Yes, yes, please, more," Dan moans, realising suddenly that Phil's other hand has stopped moving on his cock, for which he is very grateful. He's seconds away from coming if Phil touches him again, and he'd much prefer to come with Phil's cock inside him. "Fuck me, God, please fuck me."

 

Phil huffs a laugh against his throat, then proceeds to suck what feels like a large hickey against the skin there as he adds two more fingers. It hurts, more than Dan expects if he's honest, but he doesn't care in the slightest. The quicker he's prepped the better, as all he wants is Phil's cock. Perhaps Phil had been right. Perhaps he is a cock whore. 

 

Phil silences that train of thought by finishing off his lovebite with a sinful wet sucking sound, then sits up. He draws his fingers out of Dan unapologetically, and Dan can do nothing but whimper at the loss, clenching around empty space. He wants to beg Phil to get on with it, but he's pretty sure he's lost the ability to speak aloud. 

 

"Want me to fuck you, Dan?" Phil asks, running a teasing hand over his stomach. 

 

Dan feels his eyes stinging, and he throws his head back. "Yes. Yes, Phil, please."

 

"Are you gonna do what I say?" Phil asks, his voice trembling slightly, though he sounds far more coherent than Dan. 

 

"Anything, Phil, I swear." Dan promises, locking eyes with him. 

 

"Cocksluts like you don't do it like that, Dan." Phil tells him in a sweet voice that contrasts so heavily to his wording that it's bordering on disturbing. "Get on your hands and knees." 

 

Dan swallows, whimpering a little, but manages after a few tries to do as Phil asks. His limbs are spindly and weak, he realises, as he tries to hold himself up he shakes. He's going to collapse, probably, but Phil wants him like this, so Dan will try his best not to. 

 

There's another noise like a lid uncapping, followed by a wet, slick sound, and then Dan feels the blunt head of Phil's cock against his hole. He shudders, eyes fluttering as he waits in position. Phil pushes in slowly, far too slowly for Dan's tried patience. He's so big, always bigger than Dan remembers, but it's gorgeous, the sensation, overwhelming and perfect - the final puzzle piece Dan's been missing, searching for, slotting into place. 

 

"Yes, fuck..." Dan whispers, his voice hoarse and broken. 

 

Phil's hand strokes over his back as he slides in deeper; the gentlest caress juxtaposed against the filthiest penetration. 

 

"Oh, Dan..." Phil breathes, his voice wrecked.

 

Dan wishes more than anything that he could see Phil right now, but even trying to look over his shoulder would be a risky move if he wants to stay upright. 

 

Without warning, Phil starts up a rhythm, sliding out of Dan almost entirely, then plunging back in. His hips slam into Dan's behind with considerable force, rocking the younger boy forwards with each thrust. Dan screws his eyes shut in ecstasy, his hands gripping the covers beneath him as the sensation of Phil filling him floods him again and again and again. 

 

"Tell me you want this, Dan." Phil says out of nowhere, breathless. Fingernails rake down Dan's back, making him mewl in surprise. 

 

"I want this." Dan pants, not one word of lie. "I want this so bad, Phil. I want it all the time. I want you." 

 

Phil groans at this, his rhythm stuttering and faltering for a moment as he absorbs Dan's confession. Dan wants to tell him other things. Things he keeps locked away at the back of his mind, things that are breaking free as Phil tears down his inhibitions with each thrust. 

 

Dan can tell that it's not going to take long for him to come so hard he wonders if he will survive it. Phil's hands wander over his body, stroking over his back, his ass, his thighs, even brushing teasingly over his balls. Dan just cries out, knowing Phil won't touch him if he thinks Dan can come without it. Phil loves the idea of Dan coming untouched. And Dan usually can, if Phil's fucking him properly.  

 

Dan feels Phil shifting about behind him, spreading his knees apart a little more to change the angle of his thrusts. Dan holds his breath, knowing the reason, but he's still unprepared for the force with which the lightning rod of pleasure hits him as Phil knocks against his prostate. His knees buckle, as predicted, and he falls to the bed. 

 

Without hesitating, Phil pulls out of him, then flips him over, and is back inside of Dan again in moments, allowing Dan's legs to wrap loosely around his waist as he continues his rapid pace. Phil finds his prostate again easily, and Dan shouts, pinned to the bed as Phil ploughs into him, hitting that spot every time, scattering brightly coloured stars across Dan's vision. 

 

“What do you think, slut, is it worth the wait?” Phil whispers into Dan's ear, seeming not to expect an answer. "Do you like having me inside you again? Tell me, Dan, which one makes you wanna come more - sucking me off or getting fucked?" 

 

Dan is past the point of coherency in a verbal sense or in his mind. He feels a tear leak out of his eye, feeling alight with ecstasy as Phil continues his brutal pace. He's so close, he can feel it building, and by the way Phil is speeding up, Dan can tell he is too. 

 

"Ph-Phil-" Dan chokes out, hands scrabbling at Phil's waist. "Touch me. Please."  

 

"You don't need it, slut."

 

It's a devastating sensation. Like the air being punched out of him, like a bullet of pure, raw bliss ricocheting through his entire body, as he comes. Dan squeezes his eyes shut through his orgasm, moaning an affirmation to Phil's derogatory accusation, because at that moment, at the precipice of his climax, it feels true. It seems to last an endless amount of time, probably due to how long he’s had to wait for this moment. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure floods him, and he sobs into Phil’s shoulder, finally sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there when it feels like it’s about to be too much.

 

Eventually, the waves become ripples, the ripples become laps, which fade, and Dan flops back onto the pillow, sweaty and exhausted. Also, covered in his own spendings. Phil fucks into him at a continued demanding pace, chasing his own high, and Dan has to just watch as Phil unfolds above him, moaning Dan's name as he comes into Dan's wrecked body, hands gripping Dan's hips like he's a life raft on a stormy sea. 

 

Finally, Phil slows, stops, and pulls out of Dan. He collapses beside him, breathless. 

 

“Fucking hell.” Dan tries to say, though his voice comes out as a croak.

 

Phil chuckles breathily, bringing his forearm up to cover his eyes from the ceiling light. Dan hadn't even noticed it was still on. 

 

Dan doesn’t know what to say, or if he’s even able to talk, so he stays quiet, turning onto his side carefully, very aware of each painful throbbing in various places on his body. He stares at Phil's profile in amazement.

 

He finds he can’t quite comprehend what just happened.

 

Phil seemed to transform right before his eyes. He was so angry, so frustrated, and instead of talking about it during the day or whatever, he’d channelled it into this… thing. Birthday Hate Sex. Kinda.

 

And now… the angry-Phil has vanished again. He’s wearing a satisfied, dreamy smile as turns his head to look right back at Dan from the other pillow.

 

Dan isn’t sure why exactly, but he feels tears springing into his eyes. 

 

The smile on Phil’s face vanishes, and becomes alarm.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks quickly, clearly panicking. His hand reaches out to Dan’s shoulder, and again, Dan isn’t certain of why, but he flinches. “Fuck, Dan what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

 

All of a sudden, Dan feels helpless. He feels scared and vulnerable. He feels rubbed raw. This isn’t how he usually feels after sex with Phil. Normally, this is the only thing that can completely sate him. Why does he feel so lost right now? It’s just Phil, he knows that. Besides, he initiated this.

 

What the fuck is going on?

 

Frightened by his own reaction, Dan turns and buries his face into Phil’s colourful pillow, trying to breathe normally.

 

At once, he feels Phil sitting up, and then there are soothing hands on his back, stroking him tenderly.

 

“Dan, please talk to me. I need to know what I did.” Phil is saying, his voice frantic and guilty. “I’m so sorry. Whatever it is, I’m so sorry.”

 

Dan tries to rein in his wild emotions. Phil is not a threat, he tells himself over and over. Phil is not a threat. He’s trying to help. Tell him what’s wrong.

 

Shakily, Dan manages to turn his face enough from the pillow to speak. “I-I d-don’t know wh-what’s happening, Phil. I can’t stop crying.”

 

Until he says it aloud, Dan hadn’t even really noticed that he was crying. The thought only panics him more, and he lets out a little sob. Strangely, his words seem to relax Phil for some reason. He feels the tension seep out of his best friend’s shoulders as those loving hands continue sweeping over his back.

 

He hears a sigh of relief from Phil’s mouth. In seconds, Phil is laid beside him, arms securely around Dan’s waist, cocooning him in lovely, glorious Phil-warmth.

 

“Dan, I want you to listen to me, okay?” Phil murmurs, his voice much softer now, the words tickling Dan’s ear. Just the sound of Phil speaking in this way is already calming Dan down. “I know what’s happening to you. It’s my fault.”

 

Dan focuses on those words, the trust he has in Phil allowing him to release any hold on his fear of whatever’s happening. Phil knows what’s going on, he’s going to take care of it. Phil isn’t going anywhere.

 

“Dan I think you know this anyway, but I love you.” Phil tells him, and though the concept shouldn’t be shocking, Dan feels himself jump at hearing Phil confess this aloud after so long repressing it. “I would never hurt you, Dan.”

 

 _But you did_ , Dan’s mind shouts back, despite Dan not consciously agreeing.

 

“I didn’t mean any of the negative things I said to you.” Phil continues, oblivious to Dan’s conflicted brain. “I don’t think you’re a slut, Dan. I think you’re beautiful. I love making you feel good. It’s still amazing to me that, sometimes, you like to make me feel good too.”

 

Dan feels himself calming down. It’s amazing really, how what Phil is saying – even though he already knows it to an extent – is enough to drain him of all this horrible, confusing fear.

 

“I should have talked to you about it before treating you like that.” Phil tells him sincerely, the guilt prominent in his voice. “You didn’t know what was happening, and you weren’t prepared. I didn’t mean it though, Dan, I promise.”

 

Dan doesn’t say anything for a while, just focuses on letting his breaths slow and even out. He sinks into the mattress, and then melts into Phil’s embrace. He wasn’t aware that he’d been so rigid until now; hugging him for so long must have felt like cradling a statue to Phil.

 

Eventually, Dan feels calm enough to squeak out his final, irrational panic-prompted question.

 

“So you don’t hate me?”

 

Phil doesn’t laugh as though the question is absurd, like Dan thinks he might. Instead, Phil pulls him even closer somehow, and Dan shifts in his arms until they’re face to face. They’re both naked, and the embrace is pretty sticky and damp, considering their recent activities, but somehow all Dan feels is soft and warm and comforted.

 

There’s a tinge of sadness in Phil’s eyes when he next speaks. Dan wishes he could somehow wipe it away.

 

“I could never hate you, Dan.”

 

“You were so angry. It felt like you hated me.”

 

Dan hates how pathetic he sounds. He still doesn’t understand why he’s so overwhelmed. It’s just a bit of slightly rougher sex than they’d normally have. He knows, of course he knows, that Phil doesn’t hate him. It’d be pretty hard to miss that, as they sleep a wall apart and do literally everything together.

 

Why does he require this validation, suddenly? He feels like a child, needy and clingy as he stares up at Phil, waiting for him to reassure him of his love.

 

“I don’t hate you. I love you.” Phil kisses him, as though hammering the point home. A warm sensation blooms in Dan’s chest at the touch of Phil’s lips. “I love you so much.”

 

In order to preserve his own sanity, Dan pretends not to hear the break in Phil’s voice.

 

“I was angry.” Phil continues, kissing him again. “It’s really hard not to be angry with you sometimes.” Dan nods minutely, not bothering to question why. He knows that he’s been an incredible dick to Phil, particularly recently. “Luckily,” Phil smiles, “it’s really hard to stay angry with you, too.”

 

Dan blushes under Phil’s loaded gaze. He places a hand on Phil’s bare chest, because he suddenly can’t stand not hearing the steady thump of Phil’s heart.

 

“Especially when you’re naked.” Phil says after a moment, unsubtly glancing down at Dan’s body and winking.

 

Dan shoves him backwards very lightly, blushing and smiling. “Shut up.”

 

Phil laughs too, and Dan realises suddenly that he feels better. Happy, even. Elated.

 

All his anxious, panicked thoughts have fled his brain, and all that’s left is the wonder of post-coital bliss, alongside the heavenly sensation of being wrapped in Phil’s arms.

 

“Sorry about that.” Dan says after a moment of assessment. He suddenly feels horrendously embarrassed. What sort of weird episode did he just have and why did he have to subject Phil to it? “I… don’t know what that was.”

 

Phil smiles at him. “It’s okay. It happens. I should have thought about your reaction before I started calling you names. Should've given you a safeword or something.”

 

"...A safeword?" Dan repeats, struggling to take Phil seriously. "Really?"

 

"Yeah. Why not?" Phil says with a shrug. "It'd stop this from happening again if you could have the option to stop things getting too much earlier on."  

 

“You... said you knew what that was.” Dan remembers slowly. He fidgets in Phil’s embrace. "That weird panic attack I just had."

 

“Yeah." Phil says in a breezy tone, his fingers trailing lightly up and down Dan's arm. "It’s easy for people to go into a subdrop after immersion, especially if they’re not used to-”

 

“Woah, woah.” Dan interrupts, flushing. “A what? _Sub drop_? I’m not a _sub._ ”

 

Phil looks at Dan, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh. Right.”

 

Dan’s mouth falls open at Phil’s clear disbelief. Dan shoves him in the chest, affronted. “I’m _not_!”

 

Phil appears to be having difficulty keeping a straight face, which is absurd.

 

“Dan… it’s okay, it doesn’t, like, _mean_ anything.” Phil says, shrugging. “It’s just that you prefer… being told what to do, and being the bottom and stuff.”

 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me a sub!” Dan outright splutters. “You don’t _dominate_ me for fuck’s sake, we don’t have a padlocked chest filled with whips and chains and leather-”

 

“Dan,” Phil interrupts in a voice far quieter than Dan had realised his has become. “Forget I said it, okay? It doesn’t matter. We can forget this whole thing if you want. No subs, no doms, no name-calling, no horrid, confusing panic attacks after… just Dan and Phil and sex on birthdays, yeah?”

 

Dan, somewhat reluctantly, nods his assent to this. He feels like they weren’t quite finished with that discussion, though. He’ll have to bring it up again at some point.

 

As if he’s a _sub._

 

Dan Howell, submissive to Phil Lester? He thinks not.

 

To make the idea seem as absurd as possible, Dan conjures up an image of Phil, leather-clad, whip poised in one hand. Dan is somewhat relieved to find that the idea is indeed laughable.

 

Not that he had been scared he would like it or anything.

 

Before he can say anything else, another image swims into Dan’s brain: himself, cuffed to the head of Phil’s bed, gagged and helpless, Phil above him, their eyes locked as Phil sucks slightly painful bruises into his bare skin. 

 

A thrill surges through Dan at the thought, and he blanches, stiffening. Okay… so perhaps, just maybe, he has some things to work through in regards to his sexual preferences. But, in private. Not now.

 

Shutting his overactive brain down temporarily, Dan tuts at Phil. “It’s called _Birthday Sex_ , Phil, _God_.”

 

Phil laughs and swats him gently.

 

Dan sighs, snuggling closer without much thought. Phil's fingers continue tracing pleasant little patterns up and down his arm. Dan allows his mind to drift into the verge of dreamland as the sure, steady beat of Phil's heart pounds softly in his ear. 

 

When Phil pulls the covers over them, burrito-style, Dan doesn't object. He can freak out about sleeping beside Phil in the morning. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Photo of Dan, Anthony Padilla and Joey Graceffa at the Vidcon 2012 Youtuber party  
> \- Instagram: @Catrific (2012), https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/71/6f/1d/716f1d617979159e9ed0cfe0cd292542.jpg [image], 2012. 
> 
> Dan and Phil in Cat's Vidcon 2012 Vlog talking about getting drunk at an evening Youtubers-only party  
> \- Catrific (2012), "Vidcon Part 2 Vlog!" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbrWAwwd_hU, 6:12.
> 
> Dan and Phil in Cat's Vidcon 2012 Vlog talking about being broke/tired because they came straight from Vegas  
> \- Catrific (2012), "Vidcon Part 2 Vlog!" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbrWAwwd_hU, 7:10.


	5. Dan's Twenty-Second Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Phil Lester, whose birthday was 3 days after I posted it haha.

11th June, 2013 (Dan is 22)

 

_(Two weeks before Dan’s birthday.)_

 

“So, what are you up to for your birthday, Dan?”

 

Phil tries not to flinch at the trigger word, but fails. Dan notices, because he’s sat right beside him, but Phil holds on to the hope that Adam doesn’t. The streaming quality of the Skype call isn’t great, after all.

 

“Oh, nothing much, probably…” Dan says in a vague sort of way.

 

Hypersensitive as he has become to the subject of birthdays, Phil’s mind begins racing to think of a way to divert the current topic of conversation. He comes up with nothing.

 

“Think Phil and I are just gonna… hang out here.” Dan says with a shrug; Phil tries not to notice the little sneaky glance Dan aims at him. A knowing look, acknowledging their secret.

 

Adam laughs. “Seriously? Come on Phil, you’re not gonna let Dan spend his birthday watching Buffy in his pyjamas are you?”

 

"Hey!" Phil chuckles, looking indignant. "We might do something else…”

 

Dan snorts, and Phil swats him discreetly in the leg.

 

“Watch Angel instead, you mean?” Adam teases, making them both laugh.

 

“Neither of us are into making a huge deal out of birthdays.” Dan says in a breezy, rehearsed voice.

 

Phil wonders if he’s been practising giving out this response – it wouldn’t surprise him.

 

“I’m not saying you’ve gotta hit the club and stay out all night.” Adam persists; Phil wishes he would just drop it, honestly. He’s wading into waters he can’t conceivably know the depth of. “But… surely it might be nice to spend it with some friends?”

 

“That’s what I keep Phil around for.” Dan says in a jokey voice. “When I post a birthday photo on Instagram, he can be in the background. Then it looks like I have at least one friend.”

 

Adam laughs. “Then you can stuff him back in your wardrobe, right?”

 

“Until he’s needed again for the next public appearance, yeah.” Dan says, playing along.

 

Phil just laughs, happy to be the butt of the joke as long as it produces those tiny happy crinkles around Dan’s eyes.

 

“I’m serious, though.” Adam says after his chuckles have faded a bit. “Aren’t you guys sick of just each other yet? Birthdays are an excuse to hang out with some _other_ people for a change.”

 

Dan bites his lip, and Phil’s smile fades as he realises Dan is having difficulty coming up with another excuse. Perhaps it’s time for him to jump in here.

 

“You make a good case, Adam,” Phil says cheerily, “but I think us introverts are of a different breed to you. We celebrate our births in peaceful solitude, holed up with only a single, trusted companion-”

 

“Maybe I will do something.” Dan interrupts out of nowhere, stunning Phil into silence. “Probably should work a bit harder on keeping my hideous, socially awkward side under wraps.”

 

“Yeah!” Adam cheers, grinning. “Atta boy! We’ll have an awesome night.”

 

Dan chuckles, and Phil tries not to look too horrified at the implications of Dan’s words.

 

“Ugh, who says you’re invited?” Dan jokes, and Adam lifts his middle finger to the webcam.

 

“Excuse you, I am the life of any party. Right guys, I gotta go.” Adam says, checking his phone. “But I’ll see you both on the 11th, right?”

 

Dan chuckles. “Yeah. I guess so!”

 

Phil shrugs, trying to force a smile. “See you then, Adam.”

 

“I’m expecting a Facebook invite in the next twenty-four hours, Dan.” Adam calls, waving. “Don’t chicken out, understand?”

 

“I won’t.” Dan promises with a smile, and clicks ‘end call’.

 

Adam’s cheery face disappears from sight. Phil stares at the spot on screen, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

 

“You okay?” Dan asks after a minute.

 

“Yeah.” He pauses, replaying the conversation with Adam in his head. “Actually, um… can you tell me why you just announced to Adam that you’re hosting a birthday party on the 11th?”

 

“I dunno, he cornered me.” Dan shrugs. “I don’t want all our friends to think we’re social outcasts that prefer to isolate ourselves than spend our birthdays with them.”

 

“Okay, but… couldn’t you have, like…” Phil flounders for the words; Dan raises his eyebrows.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, loads of things!” Phil cries, irritation creeping up on him. “There’s so many things you could’ve said instead of that. You could’ve told him you wanted to celebrate it on a different day, or that you’d think about it and get back to him, or-”

 

“To fuck off because that’s the day Phil and I have arranged to have hot, steamy sex with one another, and he can’t be present?” Dan finishes, smirking still, and Phil glares.

 

“Not that, obviously.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Phil.” Dan says in a mildly patronising voice that Phil itches to pinch him for. Dan pats him on the knee. “This doesn’t change anything.”

 

Phil is about to ask how that could possibly be the case, but before he can summon the words, Dan has heaved himself off the sofa, MacBook in hand. He heads out of the room without another word, walking in the direction of the kitchen.

 

“Speaking of all that,” Dan calls over his shoulder, “do you think we should put what you said about safewords on the post it note thing?”

 

Phil is momentarily knocked off of his train of thought by Dan’s subject change. He follows Dan out of the room and into the kitchen, mildly alarmed.

 

“Uh, a-are you sure?” Phil asks, watching as Dan roots through their drawer of miscellaneous things-they-aren’t-sure-what-to-do-with for a pen.

 

Dan huffs a laugh. “Pretty sure I don’t want another little 'episode' after we have sex, yeah.”

 

Immediately, Phil’s mind is plunged back into that dark, horrible moment on his last birthday. Dan crying in his arms, frightened and bewildered by his own emotions.

 

Remembering it makes him nauseous, especially as he knows he was the cause. What kind of delirious idiot does that to a person they care about without first getting their consent? How stupid and blinded by rage must he have been not to notice Dan wasn’t all the way on board? It makes him feel disgusting, almost rapey, though he knows, on another, saner level, that this was not the case.

 

Drunk and dumbed by his own fury over Dan’s selfish actions that night, Phil had foolishly allowed himself to believe the façade Dan constantly insists upon wearing in regards to their relationship. Basically, Phil had allowed himself to believe that Dan doesn’t care about anything that happens between them past the sex.

 

To be fair, Dan puts an incredible amount of effort into making Phil believe this is the case, so in a sense, it’s no wonder that Phil had fooled himself into believing it was true that night. He'd been drunk and blinded by his own fury, after all. For months Phil had had to endure endless amounts of emotional torture. For starters, Dan had woken up the morning after his Vegas birthday and instantly decided to pretend he'd forgotten every detail of the night. Then, once Phil had caught up with that devastating blow, Dan had gone and thrown himself at Cat at Vidcon not even a week later, right before Phil's eyes.

 

As if both of these punches to the gut weren't enough in themselves, Phil had been forced to watch and listen to seemingly hundreds of romantic Skype sessions, the constant flirtatious texting, and a particularly devastating over-the-phone love confession. It's not like he had any desire to witness these horrifying things, but their in their new (ish) London flat, the wall between their bedrooms is thin and their communal areas are large enough for both of them to be in them most of the time. Most days, Phil had no choice but to subject himself to the horror, or leave the house and wander about until it was over.

Then, on the night of January 30th, Dan had barged into Phil's room acting as though Cat didn't even exist. Like she didn't matter in the slightest, and like it changed nothing between he and Phil. Dan apparently had just wordlessly assumed, despite everything, that he and Phil would continue on with their insane ‘pact’, Cat or no Cat, and that Phil would be as on board with it as ever.

 

Perhaps it isn't any wonder that Phil had snapped in that moment.

 

Yes, Phil took his own frustration out on Dan that night. His unusually harsh reaction was helped, of course, by a few delicious marshmallow cocktails that his brother had bought for him as a birthday treat earlier that day. All of the anger that had accumulated over the months since Dan's twenty-first had burst out of Phil in a sudden, volcanic-level eruption. He’d smothered himself in the thick, molten lava of Dan’s lies and hidden truths. He'd let himself fall for the act Dan strives so hard to keep up - that he doesn't care, and that he never has. 

 

Phil had allowed that one, destructive thought to consume him, totally, until it had squeezed out all of his compassion, all of his empathy. In that moment, Dan had become a monster to him. A twisted, sociopathic nymphomaniac who would do anything to get his way. So, Phil had surrendered. He'd given into Dan's wishes for stupid fucking Birthday Sex, but a twisted, subverted version of it that Dan had no idea was coming.

 

He'd called him names. He's thrown Dan about. He'd been rough and cold and unlike himself. It had scared Dan. But at the time, Phil didn't notice and didn't care.

 

Now, remembering his crazed actions, Phil feels like the monster. Like the psycho. Because he knows, of _course_ he knows, that Dan cares. 

 

Dan Howell is fluent in lies with just about everyone. False words trip off his tongue like raindrops falling from leaves after a monsoon. He lies to the fans about the existence of any romance, ever, between he and Phil. He lies to anyone that will listen that he’s happy and well-adjusted, when in truth his insecurities bully him into dark, self-destructive places almost every day. He lies to his parents about his future, his goals, pretending that he knows just what the years ahead hold in store for him so that they won’t worry. He lies to himself that he doesn’t care about Phil beyond the sex they indulge in twice a year.

 

And of course, he lies to Phil about it too. The only reason Phil can see through it is because Dan doesn't lie with words. Not to Phil. 

 

Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, Dan has learnt that Phil knows him far too well for that. He must know, on some level, that Phil would see through his words - that they would ring false in his Dan-tuned ears. And Phil agrees. He knows every inch of Dan, both internally and externally. He knows his every tiny, insignificant-seeming tell. He could detect an off-pitch note in Dan's voice from in the midst of a screaming crowd. He could spot a lie on Dan’s lips from the other side of the equator.

 

So instead of words, Dan lies to Phil with his touch. He lies to Phil in looks. In flirty winks and suggestive smiles. Because when Phil is drunk on his lust for Dan, he can't think about anything else. When they're in bed together, Dan is all hands. All mouth. He’s frantic, constantly moving, constantly seeking out the next way to elicit a moan or a whimper or a gasp.

 

And it's all to perpetuate his lie.

 

His biggest front.

 

It's lucky, really, that Phil is so hopelessly gone on Dan at all times. Otherwise he might not be attuned enough to see through the cracks in Dan's carefully constructed mask. Dan does well to hide his emotion, sure, but Phil looks a little too long, pays a little too close attention to Dan to be fooled by it. Occasionally, you see, when Dan is careless, or distracted, or exhausted, a glimmer of emotion might peek through. It might take the shape of a sparkle in his eye, or a soft smile upon his mouth. It might be something as simple as Dan's hand ghosting over Phil's cheek. But in these rare, shining moments - the ones only Phil is patient enough to hold out for - it's obvious that Dan cares. That he always has, in fact. 

 

And that’s why Phil is a monster. Because on that cold, harsh night in January, he’d treated Dan as though he didn’t.

 

“Yeah. Right.” Phil says after a long, contemplative silence. His voice is choked and raw; he's trying not to let the clawing, sickening guilt inside of him break through. “Sorry about that.”

 

“You’ve apologised like ten billion times Phil, it’s okay.” Dan says around a chuckle. “I’m not mad. Like I said, you had a right to be annoyed, and yeah, obviously I freaked out but… I’m fine.”

 

Phil nods, his smile strained. “Sure.” He wonders if Dan has the same ability to hear false notes in Phil's voice too. “So, have you picked one, then?”

 

“One…?” Dan repeats, the pen momentarily held aloft.

 

“A safeword.”

 

Dan’s eyes go wide, and he immediately averts his gaze to the floor. “Oh! Um, no, I guess I haven’t.”

 

Phil smiles very slightly at Dan’s marginally flustered reaction.

 

“Well... you need to come up with one.”

 

Dan splutters, cheeks pinkening. He twiddles the pen in his fingers, eyes darting to and from Phil’s face, like he can’t decide where to look.

 

“Do I have to decide _now?_ ” Dan asks, sounding bewildered. “In the middle of the kitchen two weeks before we’re even gonna… y’know.”

 

“Dan, for the safeword to work, I’m gonna have to know what it is at some point.” Phil says gently, though his smile grows by a few centimetres.

 

“I’m not an idiot, Phil.” Dan huffs, turning to walk to the fridge.

 

Phil stays quiet as Dan shakily scribbles something on the Birthday Sex Rules list. Silently, he marvels at Dan’s reaction. He can be so unpredictably awkward at the most random things. Dan can talk in depth about placenta, tentacle-porn hentai, even his fascination with furries, but something as simple as introducing the concept of a _safeword_ can have him blushing harder than a nun at a swingers party.

 

Perhaps it’s because it’s so personal, Phil reasons, watching Dan stare resolutely at the sticky note as he writes on it. All the sexual stuff Dan breezily jokes about normally is hypothetical. A safeword is a symbol of trust, essentially. By telling Phil a word he’s chosen to allow a way out of things, Dan is placing his trust in Phil that he will stop any activity they're engaged in if it is used.

 

For Dan, the sharing of a safeword is just another way to be vulnerable. Another way he runs the risk of being hurt. Sure, he trusts Phil most of all, probably more than anybody else in the world, but Dan’s issues with trust run deep.

 

He will do anything not to be vulnerable. Phil knows this better than anyone.

 

“I’ll think about it.” Dan says, sounding a little tetchy. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

 

Phil blinks as his brain catches up with what Dan is talking about. Right. The safeword. “Okay.”

 

Phil gives Dan a smile, which Dan resolutely ignores in favour of spending an unnecessary amount of time replacing the cap on the pen. Phil watches him for a moment, his heart growing warm and fond at the sight of Dan's pouty, stubborn expression as he engages in his task. 

 

He’s in a Sonic jumper Phil’s seen him in a thousand times, and his hair is curly because he’s got no plans today; nobody to impress. Phil’s allowed to see the curls in all their glory, but he's the only one Dan will give this privilege to. He’s also the only one permitted to watch Dan pout and glare and roll his eyes in this way. Not to mention, at any point he has the honour of being able to look across the room, or poke his head round Dan’s door, or pad up to the study to watch Dan edit, or browse the internet, or cook dinner, or make tea, or take a nap, or watch anime, or just smile his film star smile. Phil can, at any time, gaze upon the glory of his olive-tanned skin, can peruse the stubble-less, sharp curve of his jaw, can stare into his chocolate-rich, almond shaped eyes.

 

He vows, in this moment, to remember his good fortune whenever he feels himself getting frustrated with Dan. It's no exaggeration, after all, that literally hundreds of thousands of people out there would probably auction off their own limbs to be in Phil’s position for even an hour or so.

 

Phil is, in so many ways, so incredibly lucky to have Dan in front of him, beside him, near him every day. It's something that is so easy to take for granted. But he mustn’t ever forget it. Not to mention, when one considers the additional perks of Phil’s peculiar relationship with Dan – the perks detailed on that sticky note Dan just scrawled on, in fact – it’s enough to make Phil wonder if he might have won some sort of astrological lottery.

 

He's looked it up before. Gemini and Aquarius are extremely compatible signs. Surely it can't all be a coincidence. 

 

“What?” Dan asks after a while, still looking vaguely moody.

 

Phil's eyebrows lift in surprise; for a moment there, he'd stepped out of the present and into his overactive mind palace. He realises he’s been staring pretty intensely at Dan for at least a minute during this time, and he blushes, looking away. Okay, he tells himself silently, yes he's lucky, but he might not be lucky for much longer if he continues to freak Dan out with his obvious and lovestruck behaviour.

 

“Nothing.” Phil says quickly, pushing past Dan to look at the sticky note. 

 

He needs something to distract himself, after all. 

 

His eyes skim the rules briefly, skipping to the one Dan just added. 

 

_Birthday Sex Rules List:_

  * _Sex occurs on day of birthday only. Midnight is the cut off point._
  * _All forms of sex are permitted, pertaining to the birthday boy’s wishes, and with consent on both sides (duh)_
  * _Birthday sex is fine in lieu of a present (but we should probably get each other something small so the subscribers don’t get suspicious)_
  * _Feelings are to be kept out of it  
_
  * _If either of us want to stop, for any reason, it stops. _
  * _Although midnight is the cut off point, sex can go on beyond this time (until morning) as long as some form of physical affection is initiated before 12._
  * _If necessary, the following safeword will be used by either party:_



 

Phil can't stop the smile when he reaches the blank space at the end of the list, empty and inviting Dan to write his safeword there. Apparently, Dan notices Phil's wry little smirk, because he mutters something like 'fuck's sake' under his breath, then walks over to the fridge and scrawls something else on the note.

 

Phil chuckles softly at him, trying with all his might not to think about how warm Dan's shoulder is pressed up against his in their tiny kitchen. He resists the urge to breathe in the scent of Dan when he's this close, just about. 

 

Dan finishes whatver he's writing in about a milisecond, and throws the pen back into the drawer, still pouting. Then he turns to Phil. 

 

"Happy?" Dan asks, and before waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen. 

 

Mildly bewildered, Phil turns to see what Dan has written. 

 

  * _If necessary, the following safeword will be used by either party: DOGE_



 

Phil snorts, grinning. 

 

"Nice choice, Dan!" He calls out loudly, sure Dan will be able to hear. "Much safe. Very trust."

 

"I hate you!" Dan calls back from somewhere in another part of the flat; Phil laughs.

 

Well, Dan's birthday ought to be interesting one way or another. 

 

* * *

 

 

In the days that follow, Phil keeps expecting Dan to weasel out of his promise to Adam. Instead, Dan seems keen to follow through with the plan. He makes a Facebook event for his birthday, as he told Adam he would, and invites him, Bryony and her boyfriend, known to the Internet as Wirrow.

 

Phil is sat beside Dan on the couch while he creates the event, and he watches as Dan types out a witty description for it, sipping his coffee contemplatively.

 

“I’m not invited, then.” Phil observes, and Dan jumps slightly at the sound of his voice; they’ve been sat in companionable silence for some time now, each on their laptops, Buffy playing in the background.

 

Dan turns to look at the screen, then back to Phil. He laughs. “You want a formal invitation?”

 

Phil smirks. “I’d like one, yeah.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, but clicks onto the guest list. The first person listed as a suggested invite is Phil, which isn’t that surprising. Dan clicks his name.

 

“There. Happy?” Dan mutters, scrolling down again. Phil feels the buzz of a facebook notification from his phone in his pocket. “Spork.”

 

Phil doesn’t say anything. He simply pulls out his phone and looks at the screen.

 

_Dan has invited you to the event ‘Birthday Lulz’._

 

Phil smiles to himself, clicking onto it. He responds, then tucks his phone away again.

 

“So, we’re actually hosting a party, then.” Phil says, draining the last of his coffee.

 

Dan chuckles. “If the internet could see us now.”

 

Again, Phil stares at Dan, hoping for an explanation for this sudden, extremely out of character behaviour. Dan’s the one who never wants to do anything for his birthday except hang out with Phil. He’s the one that insisted they spend their birthdays together for the foreseeable future. He’s the one that came up with Birthday Sex, which essentially rules out anyone else being involved in any future birthday plans.

 

And now he’s invited their friends over for a gathering? It makes little sense.

 

Infuriatingly, Dan stays silent. He’s clicked onto Twitter now, the birthday thing forgotten. Phil sighs, deciding it’s probably useless to ask Dan what he’s playing at again. Presumably, he’s got some sort of plan which will allow both the party and the Birthday Sex to go forth without issue. 

 

Phil stands up then, heading into the kitchen to wash up his coffee mug. As he leaves the room, he hears Dan call after him.

 

“Hey! Did you put ‘maybe’ for my event?! Dick!”

 

Phil chuckles to himself as he continues walking.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the night of Dan’s birthday and things are going well. Bryony and Wirrow turn up first, gift in one hand, vlogging camera held in the other. It’s unexpected to be confronted with a camera, especially from Bryony, as her Paperlilies account is virtually dead at this point. Not long ago, she declared that the Youtube world is toxic and clique-y  and horrible for any vlogger's self-esteem. And... she's right. Obviously. After all, if Phil had never started making videos, he never would have met Dan, and he wouldn't be in such a shit situation. The thought of missing the chance of meeting Dan, however, is enough to push bile up into Phil's throat. He rinses it down with his fruity cider, and tries not to think about it. 

 

Bryony has essentially ceased publishing videos because of her hatred for Youtube, which probably just means that she's filming out of habit more than anything else. It's unlikely that any footage she captures tonight will ever end up online. Still, the sight of other people's vlogging cameras has become a terrifying omen to Phil after all these years. He's learned the hard way that being a public figure and having no control over footage of himself are things that do not mesh well. Even that fucking Valentine's Day video he made for Dan all those years ago turned into something catastrophic when he lost control of its publicity, and he was the one who filmed it.

 

He barely wants to imagine what could happen if he were caught in the background of some random vlog staring wishfully at Dan, or acting in some way that doesn't fit his carefully constructed online persona. And tonight is Dan's birthday, which means that the kind of things that could be caught on camera between he and Dan are ten times worse than normal. But he can't exactly explain this to Bryony, so he guesses he's just going to have to deal with the camera.

 

He does notice Dan eyeing it a little worriedly though, at first. Perhaps he too is afraid of what Bryony will capture on this specific night.

 

"Loved your vine, Dan." Wirrow tells him with a grin as Dan prepares drinks. "Really captured your apathy towards this meaningless celebration of birth." 

 

Dan laughs, his eyes sparkling. "Thanks. I was going for neutrality, but apathy might actually be better." 

 

Dan hands Phil a newly opened bottle of cider, which Phil hadn't even seen him get out of the fridge. He takes it, surprised by the kind gesture, and drains the last of his previous drink.

 

"Thanks." Phil says with a smile. 

 

"Y'welcome." Dan says, sipping his own glass of rosé. "Though might I point out that since it's my birthday, you should be pouring me drinks." 

 

Phil chuckles, picking up the bottle of rosé Dan had left on the side. "True. I'll just carry this for the whole night and follow you around." 

 

"See, that's a good friend, Bry." Dan says to her camera, which is aimed at both of them. "Someone who offers to become your own personal butler on your birthday." 

 

Bryony giggles as Phil mimes stabbing himself in the chest. "Yeah, you're one lucky guy, Dan." 

 

"Yeah," Dan says a little softer. Phil glances at him, and there's a wistful look on his face. 

 

The buzzer sounds then, and it's gone in a flash. 

 

As soon as Phil's brain catches up to his mouth, he smiles, realising who is at the door. "That'll be Adam!" 

 

Phil doesn't bother excusing himself, and rushes to let Adam in, the chilly bottle of wine still tucked under his arm. Phil meets him at the top of the stairs after buzzing him up, arms held theatrically wide. Adam laughs at the sight of him, rucksack slung over one shoulder, a cheery grin plastered on his handsome face.

 

He steps into Phil's arms readily, all too happy to wrap him a warm hug, and Phil squeezes back, wine in one hand, cider bottle in the other, smiling. He hadn't realised how much he's missed Adam in the few months they’ve spent apart. Having him around all day every day had been such a lovely, happy distraction from the usual moping about Phil engages in daily. 

 

“It’s so good to see you, Phil.” Adam says into his shoulder.

 

“You too!” Phil replies, meaning every word.

 

He lets himself enjoy the hug, the cider helping him to relax in Adam’s arms. He's got such a warm, happy presence. Phil had forgotten how good it felt to be near someone so positive for a change.  

 

Footsteps approach from the living room. 

 

“Back again, Adam!” Dan cries, a little louder than was probably necessary. He must be getting tipsy. Phil breaks away from the hug, feeling a touch chagrined and not being entirely sure why. “Thought we got rid of you in September.”

 

There’s a wide grin on Dan’s face, but something is off in his tone, Phil can sense it. It looks like Dan is clenching his jaw too, one of his most obvious tells. It usually means that something, or someone, is getting under Dan’s skin.

 

Phil frowns at this, wondering what on earth could be wrong, but before he can focus, Adam is pulling Dan into a briefer, stiff sort of hug.

 

"Dan!"

 

It looks awkward, though Adam is clearly trying to diffuse that. Dan seems rigid in Adam's arms, and before long he pulls away, frowning. 

 

“Hah, yeah don’t worry, I’m not here to take further advantage of your incredible hospitality, guys.” Adam says with a smile. “I’m not even gonna ask to crash here tonight. I’ve booked myself a hotel up the road and everything.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that!” Phil protests, stunned. “We loved having you stay here in September, right Dan?”

 

“Yeah!” Dan agrees, looking into his glass of wine. Phil is embarrassed by the false, hollow tone of his best friend’s voice. “It was a party every night.”

 

Phil glances at Adam, wondering if he’s picking up on Dan’s weird behaviour. Why is Dan acting as though Adam is intruding here all of a sudden? Dan invited him! This whole party was Adam's idea, in fact. Not to mention, when Adam had stayed with them for a few months last year, they’d had so much fun together. Or so Phil had thought, anyway. Dan has certainly never expressed a dislike for the guy.

 

Phil doesn’t understand it, and honestly he’s feeling a little annoyed by Dan’s hostile attitude. He plays with the idea of subtly kicking Dan to tell him to snap out of it, but that might only draw attention to the weirdness. After all, there's a chance Adam hasn't picked up on it. He doesn't want to make things worse. 

 

Besides, Dan will probably snap out of it in a minute. 

 

“So, Adam.” Dan says after a mildly uncomfortable silence falls between the three of them. “Drink?”

 

“Yeah, sounds great.” Adam says with a smile. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way!”

 

“Thanks for remembering.” Dan mutters sarcastically, and with that he turns towards the kitchen, stalking off without another word. 

 

Phil sincerely hopes Adam didn’t hear that.

 

* * *

 

It’s around nine, and everyone is sat in the living room playing a game. Bryony is still insisting on filming at random, irregular intervals, which means Phil can’t be as relaxed as he’d ideally like to be. He keeps catching himself staring at Dan for too long, or on the verge of saying something not internet-appropriate, and having to rein himself in.

 

Dan, on the other hand, doesn't seem to give a flying fuck about the video camera. He's that level of inebriated that has unscrewed the filter on his mouth, and alongside his general controversial joking, he's aiming pointed, snide little jibes at Adam at every opportunity that arises. It starts off being funny, and Adam, Saint that he is, takes it in his stride. Eventually, however, Phil notices Adam starting to get a little uncomfortable, his laughs forced. Even Bryony and Wirrow exchange some 'what's going on' glances.

 

Phil keeps trying to catch Dan's eye across the table in the hopes of finding out what his problem is, but it's hard to get his attention when they're all falling about laughing at the silly card game they've invented. After a while, Dan throws down his hand of cards dismissively, and announces that he needs something to drink that isn't rosé. 

 

"Ah, well you're in luck, Daniel." Adam announces cheerily, reaching for his rucksack. 

 

"Don't fucking call me Daniel." Dan says, mouth twisted in distaste. "Only my Dad calls me that." 

 

"Please refer to Phil by name in front of guests, Dan." Bryony begs, and everyone except Dan laughs uproariously. 

 

Phil has to hide his blush by draining the last of his cider, but it's okay. He knows it's only a joke. Dan just rolls his eyes. 

 

"Now, this is really for both of you," Adam says, pulling a bottle out of his bag with a flourish. Phil makes an appreciative 'oooh' noise as he sets it on the table. "As a thank you for letting me stay so long without booting me out last year."

 

"Aw, Adam you didn't have to get us a gift!" Phil says, smiling happily.

 

Adam laughs, ducking his head bashfully. "I know but, well, you guys were there in my time of need, so..."

 

Just as Phil reaches out to squeeze Adam's shoulder, Dan swipes the bottle from the centre of the table, bringing it up to his face. "Milk vodka?"

 

Adam turns to Dan, a strained smile on his face. "Yeah! It's this cool thing I found online, basically they use the whey cows produce-"

 

"So, it's vodka made from milk, essentially." Dan interrupts, rolling his eyes. "Who'd have guessed with a name like that?"

 

Adam just chuckles, but his cheeks pinken. Phil feels a surge of annoyance well up inside of him, but he tries to swallow it down. He can call Dan out on his rudeness later, but it is technically still his birthday, so he has to be nice.

 

"That sounds awesome." Phil tells Adam in the most enthusiastic voice he can muster. 

 

"Yeah, I hate vodka and milk gives you stomach cramps." Dan replies, looking Phil dead in the eye. "Great gift, Adam! Happy birthday to me! Oh wait- this isn't my birthday present, is it? It's for Phil too! What a surprise."

 

"Dan." Phil says through gritted teeth, unable to stay quiet as Dan is horrible about their friend's thoughtful gift. 

 

"What?" Dan says, forcing out a laugh. Nobody joins in. "I'm  _joking_ obviously. Jeez. Lighten up, Phil."

 

There's an uncomfortable silence. Phil tries to think of how to fill it.

 

"Hey, let's all do a shot of it!" Bryony says eventually; Phil could kiss her in that moment. "I can't wait to try it. Sounds so weird."

 

"Great idea." Dan sighs unconvincingly. "Phil, get some shot glasses, would you? I'm gonna go pee."

 

Dan scrapes his chair backwards, then stands up to head down to the bathroom. Phil waits for him to leave before turning to Adam, looking ashamed. 

  

“I’m sorry, Adam. I don’t know why he’s being…”

 

Phil isn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Adam just shrugs, smiling as if it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Phil knows he's just being nice. It's so awful of Dan to be so horrible to someone so lovely. And for no conceivable reason that Phil can think of.

 

Suddenly, Phil is angry. Birthday or not, Dan has no right to be such a brat to one of their friends. Adam was Phil’s friend first after all, so it’s his responsibility to defend the guy in situations like this, when shitty behaviour is completely uncalled for.

 

Phil stands from his chair; everyone watches in mild astonishment. “Excuse me.” Phil says coldly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil waits for Dan outside the bathroom for what seems like forever. He practises what he’s going to say in his mind during this time, the telling off he’s going to give Dan rolling around his brain like a mantra.

 

It’s times like this that Phil is reminded of Dan’s immaturity. He’s only turning twenty-two today after all. At twenty-six, Phil can sometimes feel like the father figure in their friendship. Not in the same sense Bryony was implying, however. He shudders a little at the thought.

 

He hears the telltale noise of the door unlocking, and pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against, drawing up to his full height. The angry words are on the edge of his lips, and he folds his arms across his body, ready to scold.

 

Then Dan opens the door, and Phil instantly forgets everything he’d been about to say.

 

Dan’s cheeks are a rose petal shade of pink from the alcohol he’s been drinking, his pupils have dilated into two black holes, his fringe is messy and patchy across the pale golden stripe of his forehead. He’s unbuttoned his shirt far enough that it creates a deep ‘V’ down his chest.

 

He pauses in the doorway, staring at Phil, eyebrows raised defiantly. “What?”

 

Not knowing how else to deal with the sudden, intense flame of desire that leaps up inside his chest, Phil steps forward and shoves Dan back inside the bathroom, this time coming in with him. Phil locks the door at once.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Dan cries indignantly; instead of answering, Phil pushes their mouths together, his hands flying to the buttons on Dan’s shirt.

 

Dan makes a muffled sort of protest at first, but melts into the kiss in seconds.

 

That lack of resistance alone has Phil pushing his hips into Dan’s, moaning into his mouth. He bites at Dan’s lip, still angry for reasons he’s having difficulty remembering.

 

His hands have somehow unbuttoned Dan’s shirt completely, but Dan doesn’t seem particularly bothered as Phil’s fingers roam the skin beneath. Phil pushes him up against the sink, kissing Dan until his lips feel numb.

 

After ten minutes of heavy, gropey making out, Phil feels Dan push against his chest. He stops at once, still wary of Dan’s reactions after the last time they did this. Phil leans back to stare into Dan’s eyes, panting from the lack of oxygen.

 

“We can’t do this now.” Dan says in a cold, quiet voice.

 

When Phil looks properly, he notices a sullen, sulky look on Dan’s beautiful face. Why is _he_ angry?

 

Phil’s hands fall from where they’ve been gripping Dan’s bare waist. He’s right of course. There are three guests in the other room, all waiting to be entertained and hosted for Dan’s birthday party.

 

The Birthday Sex will have to wait, no matter how tempting Dan looks all tipsy and ruffled. As Phil steps backwards, putting much needed space between himself and Dan, he finds that coherent thought swims back into his head.

 

He remembers, suddenly, that he came to find Dan here because he’d been upset with him. About his behaviour towards Adam. 

 

“Having fun at the party?” Dan asks in that same cold, sulky voice he's been talking in all night.

 

The younger boy starts buttoning up his shirt again. Phil watches him hesitantly, wondering if confronting Dan is really the best tack here. If he wants Dan to stop being horrible, he needs to find out what's upsetting him, not just yell at him. 

 

“Yeah.” Phil says cautiously, after a moment of thought. “Are you?”

 

“Not really, no.” Dan answers sharply.

 

Phil waits, inviting Dan to elaborate so that they can discuss what it is that's bothering him. Dan stays silent, just continuing to methodically button up his shirt. 

 

“Can I do something to help you have a better time?” Phil asks in an attempt to encourage Dan to open up. 

 

There’s fire in Dan’s eyes when he glances up at Phil again, his mouth a hard, bitten-red line.

 

“Yes actually, there is." Dan spits. "You can stop fucking flirting with Adam right in front of me.”

 

Phil stares at Dan in pure shock. _What?_

“I’m not… flirting…” Phil says slowly, speaking as though he might to a ten-year old, rather than Dan, his twenty-two year old, clearly insane best friend.

 

“I’m not a fucking moron, Phil.” Dan says icily, buttoning the final part of his shirt. “It’s my _birthday_ , do you remember that? You’re supposed to want _me_ today.”

 

Phil can't help it. Try as he might to stay cool, the ridiculous accusation Dan is making is igniting a furious flame inside his chest; his blood boils and he grits his teeth in anger. 

 

“Oh, and every other day, right?” Phil fires back, unable to stop the words from shooting out. “As long as I want you all the time, always, but never actually get to _have_ you, then everything’s perfect for you, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh, fuck off Phil.” Dan says with scorn. “Don’t try and somehow blame me because you can’t stop fancying me even though we broke up like two fucking years ago.”

 

Phil feels the stab wound pierce his heart, but he tells himself to ignore it. He can patch himself up in the morning. Right now, he needs to remind Dan of just how little he is entitled to a bitch fit right now. 

 

“Are you kidding me?” Phil asks, eyeing Dan with derision. “Honestly, you think you _aren’t_ to blame? You fucking _invented_ this whole ridiculous Birthday Sex scheme and you’re surprised that I’m still heartbroken over you?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Fucking get over it, Phil. It’s sex.”

 

Phil laughs humourlessly, shaking his head. “It’s all so fucking convenient for you, Dan. You get to have all of the fun with none of the pain! The sex without the emotion.” Phil takes a step towards him, and Dan actually takes a step back, seeming wary of Phil’s sudden hostility. “You get to have me pining over you, making you feel wanted all year round without having to give a shit about how it’s literally killing me inside, because if you ever feel too guilty, you can shrug it off by telling yourself you’re giving me what I want twice a year, so it’s fine. It’s even conveniently spaced out! Almost exactly six months apart, so that every time I even think about getting over you, I’m sucked back in!”

 

“Oh my God, Phil, just shut up!” Dan shouts, cheeks aflame. “You’re so fucking self-pitying, it’s pathetic! So, I’m a fucking monster for suggesting we ever did this, am I? Are you forgetting that you happily go along with it every fucking time?!”

 

Phil lets out a huff of air through his nose, teeth gritted. His rebuttal is forming on the tip of his tongue, but as the angry tears sting his eyes, he swallows it.

 

Dan’s right. It’s useless to pretend like Dan deserves all the blame. He’s no Saint in this situation either.

 

“This is pointless.” Phil says eventually, shoulders drooping. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We have to go back to the others.”

 

Dan looks completely mystified by the sudden change in atmosphere. He’d clearly been ready with plenty more arguments, but Phil doesn’t have the strength or patience to listen to them right now.

 

What’s the point in fighting about all this? They could argue for weeks on end, but at the end of the day Phil is still always going to want Dan, and Dan is still always going to make Phil want him.

 

Phil shrugs at Dan, eyes roving once more over his mildly dishevelled appearance, this time purely checking that nobody will suspect what they’ve been doing.

 

If any of their guests caught the volume of their shouting, it’s more likely that people would think they’ve been fistfighting than making out.

 

Phil walks to the door and unlocks it. Dan’s just watching him silently, that same sullen expression on his features. Phil pays it no mind.

 

“Go and sit with the others.” Phil tells him. “I’ve got to do a thing.”

 

Dan doesn’t reply, so Phil walks out of the door, heading up the stairs for the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Switching the light off as he enters the room almost makes Phil drop the cake in his hand, but he manages to do it somehow.

 

“Happy birthday too youuu…” Phil starts to sing in a terribly off-key voice. He plasters a smile on his face as the others turn towards him.

 

He moves slowly, wary of the candles going out, and the others join in the song. A slow grin spreads across Dan’s face as he makes noises of embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands.

 

Phil places the cake carefully in front of him, deliberately not looking him in the eye. The last line of the song is sung, and Dan laughs at his friends’ exuberant swaying and dancing.

 

“Make a wish, Dan!” Bryony calls from behind her camera, and Dan smiles.

 

Phil doesn’t miss the way Dan glances up to meet his gaze before blowing out the candles.

 

He shivers at the implication, but nobody notices. They’re all too busy clapping. Dan blows them all out in one go, obviously.

 

Phil claps too, then wanders over to switch the lights back on. “Hope that doesn’t set off the smoke alarm.”

 

“Damn, that was my wish.” Dan jokes, and the others laugh.

 

“Okay, that cake looks glorious. Can we have it now?” Adam asks, grinning.

 

Phil laughs and nods, walking over to scoop up the cake. “I’m guessing you want a big slice then, Adam?”

 

Adam laughs, winking theatrically. “ _Huge._ ”

 

Phil grins, then asks Bryony and her boyfriend how much they’d like. He doesn’t bother asking Dan. He knows he’ll want a massive slab. He’s always been a cake slut.

 

He walks back out to the kitchen, cake in hand. It’s only when he sets the cake down on the counter that he notices Dan has followed him in here.

 

He looks at Dan, waiting for him to speak, but is met instead with a hard glare.

 

“Uh… did you wanna cut the cake?”

 

Dan steps forwards, closing the short distance between them easily. “Tell me, when I asked you to stop flirting with Adam, did you think I said ‘do it more’?”

 

Phil just stares for a moment, taking in Dan’s annoyance, the bitchface he’s sporting, the way his hands rest indignantly on his hips. It takes about ten seconds before Phil bursts out laughing.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Dan?” Phil asks with an eyeroll, turning away to find a carving knife for the cake. “You’re acting insane.”

 

“You’re acting like a dick!” Dan shoots back, following Phil as closely as a shadow. “You’re doing it on purpose to make me jealous!”

 

Phil turns back to Dan, honestly baffled by the absurdity of his accusations. He must be really drunk or something. How can he think Phil and Adam are _flirting_?

 

“Dan,” Phil says calmly, “stop being crazy. I’m not flirting with Adam. You literally just accused me of still being in love with you, remember?”

 

“So?” Dan snorts, arms folding over his chest.

 

“So, why would I flirt with Adam, when as you yourself acknowledged, the only person I want is you?”

 

Phil wonders vaguely if it ought to hurt a little more to say this to Dan. It probably should, he reasons. Dan seems so fucking unbothered by Phil’s casual mention of his undying love. It should definitely hurt.

 

For some reason though, it doesn’t. Not really. In fact, Phil just feels sort of…numb.

 

He turns back to cutting the cake, mildly concerned about his wellbeing. This whole situation is probably really fucking him up mentally. Perhaps he should be more worried about that.

 

“I already told you.” Dan says, sounding exasperated. His teeth are clenched as he talks. “You’re doing it to make me jealous.”

 

At that moment, Phil loses his ability to comprehend the madness. He whirls around to face Dan, watching as the younger boy eyes the knife in his hand, warily.

 

“Dan… you _literally have a girlfriend._ ” Phil reminds him, his voice coming out at a higher frequency than he intends because he’s pretty sure he’s losing his mind here. “How the fuck can you accuse _me_ of trying to make _you_ jealous?!”

 

Dan fidgets awkwardly; apparently he’d forgotten this small fact. Phil just snorts and turns away, slicing up the cake with vigour.

 

“Just stop doing it.” Dan mutters after a while.

 

Phil’s fist clenches around the handle of the knife. The fucking nerve of Dan, honestly. Phil knows Dan’s insecure about himself, but fucking hell. This is preposterous. This is obviously why Dan’s been such a dick to Adam all night long.

 

Despite the fact Phil has had to endure literally months of watching him and Cat coo at each other through a screen. He’s been forced to lie awake hearing the sounds of Dan’s moans as he engages in Skype-sex with her. Phil has never – barr January 30th – even _mentioned_ his own damaged feelings in relation to Cat, let alone complained to Dan about his actions, or worse, _told him to stop._

 

And now Dan is, what, asking Phil to stop being nice to Adam in exactly the same way as he always has been because he somehow interprets it as flirting? It's delusional of Dan to think Phil feels anything for Adam besides good friendship considering he knows Phil is in love with him, but even if Phil did want Adam, Dan would have no right to act this way. For fuck's sake, he's doing the exact same thing with Cat, who is also a good friend of both of theirs. The hypocrisy of it all is making Phil want to punch something. 

 

Instead, he channels his anger into cake-cutting, slicing hard and fast. Once it's cut up, Phil picks it up on and turns, finding Dan still standing behind him, chin jutted out in defiance. Not trusting himself to say anything more to Dan without throttling him, Phil just shoves the knife into Dan's hand - handle-first - part of him relishing the little flinch it elicits. Phil walks back out into the living room, Dan hot on his heels.

 

It's as Phil begins divvying up the slices between guests, making sure to give Adam the biggest, that an evil thought forms in his head. He tries to shake it off, knowing deep down that it's useless to fight fire with fire, and that Dan will come to his senses when he's sober anyway, and that revenge is essentially a worthless form of victory. The thought niggles at him though, a relentless termite burrowing into his brain, gnawing through his more reasonable, sensible parts until it's all Phil can think about.

 

He shovels cake into his mouth, considering. He looks up at Adam, who is cracking an awful joke, glancing at Phil often because he's trying to make him laugh. Phil smiles back warmly, entertained by his friend. Then Phil looks across to Dan, who may as well be lasering Adam's face off with the hardness of his glare. And that's all it takes for Phil to make up his mind. A wry smile forms on his lips, and oh-so-casually, Phil rests his elbow on Adam's shoulder, leaning towards him - just a little bit too close. Adam doesn't seem to mind a bit, and when the punchline of the joke is made, Phil laughs long and hard, as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

 

Adam looks at him, pleased; Phil grins back, knowing instantly that it's going to be all too easy to make Dan wish he'd never said a fucking word. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, you’ve got some on your top lip.” Phil says in a low voice, his finger reaching up to swipe the imaginary frosting off of Adam’s top lip before he can react. Without hesitation, Phil brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks it, grinning at Adam. “Yum.”

 

Adam chuckles at him, blushing tipsily; Phil can feel the burn of Dan’s hateful gaze as it attempts to penetrate his and Adam's little bubble. It’s no use, though. Phil is determined to pay Dan as little attention as possible.

 

They're sat on their sofa now, Dan and Phil either side of Adam, Bryony and Wirrow squeezed together on the big, squishy beanbag on the floor. They're full of cake and vodka shots, and everyone is looking happy and drunk. Except Dan of course, who seems to be sobering up, not that it's having any effect on his attitude apart from making him less vocal and more starey. Phil is carefully keeping Adam distracted from Dan's laser-glare, but Bryony keeps occasionally asking if he's okay, which only seems to irritate Dan more. 

 

“Who wants to play another game?” Phil asks as soon as he notices Bryony watching Dan with concern again. “What about _spin the bottle_?”

 

Phil’s turns to wink at Adam cheekily. Adam smirks back at him, lids lowering slightly as he responds to the obvious flirtation. Honestly, the most unexpected thing about all this is that Phil is getting the sense that Adam actually might be into him. How had he not noticed before? Perhaps Dan wasn't leaping to  _ridiculous_ conclusions about any 'flirting' between them after all, even if it was one-sided... 

 

“Fuck right off.” Dan exclaims in response. Instantly, all consideration Phil has for Dan's point of view goes out the window. “We are not ten year olds, Phil.”

 

Phil allows his gaze to flick to Dan’s briefly. The 'could've fooled me' response is on the tip of his tongue, but he catches it just in time. He can't let on to anyone else that they're fighting. Besides, an argument is what Dan wants. Instead, Phil is intent on forcing Dan to watch him with Adam for as long as possible. A taste of his own medicine, as it were.

 

So Phil just smiles sweetly, eyes glancing down to the tight grip Dan has around his glass, as though he’s trying to choke it.

 

“What do you wanna do then, birthday boy?” Phil asks.

 

Dan’s jaw twitches, eyes narrowing at Phil. The secrets between them are so prominent in Dan's stare that Phil can practically feel them whipping against his skin. He wonders how nobody else can pick up on them, they're filling this whole room, choking the air.  

 

“Oh, I’ve got some things in mind.” Dan mutters, only just audible. 

 

“To be honest, gang, we should probably head off.” Bryony announces; Wirrow has laid his head on her shoulder. “This one’s pretty wiped. Don’t know if you can tell.”

 

“Nah, I think he’s up for another round of shots, eh buddy?” Adam says loudly, and Wirrow’s answering groan makes Phil chuckle.

 

“Want me to call you a taxi, Bry?” Dan asks in an almost eerily calm voice. His gaze is still fixed resolutely on Phil.

 

Phil swallows, trying to ignore the quietly furious expression his best friend wears. A wave of guilt washes over him briefly, but Phil shrugs it away. Dan deserves this. He's put Phil through hell for two years. He can stand one evening of _fake_ torture. At least at the end of the night Dan will be back to having things just how he likes them. Dan will once again have Phil in the palm of his hand, and Phil will take his place back as the jealous, crazy ex. 

 

“Nah, it’s okay.” Bryony replies to Dan, getting up and tugging her boyfriend to his weary feet. “We can manage.”

 

There’s a round of goodbyes then, and as Phil hugs Bryony he realises a tad guiltily that he’s barely spoken to her all evening. He wonders if she’s even had a good time.

 

She smiles as she releases him though, so Phil doesn’t let himself feel too awful. He does wonder what she picked up on though, considering the last time he and Dan saw her for more than a few hours, she’d been under the impression they were still loved up enough to share a bed. 

 

“Thanks for having us, guys! Happy birthday, Dan!” Bryony calls, alongside similar, sleepier sentiments from the tall man by her side.

 

The door closes behind them, and Dan, Phil and Adam are left alone. A thick, stifling tension clogs the air, making Adam fidget uncomfortably on the sofa. Phil sips his drink, pressing up against him, and acts for all the world as if nothing is wrong.

 

He imagines he can hear Dan's teeth grinding from the other end of the sofa. He ignores it, however. 

 

“So, Adam.” Phil says with nonchalance. “Are you really planning on going all the way back to an empty hotel room right now?”

 

The grinding gets louder; Phil starts to wonder if he's actually imagining it or if Adam can hear it too. Regardless, he forces himself to keep his eyes trained on Adam, a tight smile on his lips.

 

“Why?” Adam asks with a mischievous smile. “Got a better offer?”

 

“In your fucking _dreams_.”

 

Both Phil and Adam whip their heads round to Dan in record time. Phil’s eyes are saucers; he... didn’t really just say that, did he?

 

“Uh… I was j-joking…” Adam starts to say, but Dan is on his feet in seconds, stood in front of Adam, fixing him with a deathly glare.

 

“Joking? Is that your way of saying 'pawing all over him all night'?” Dan asks, his voice as sharp as knives. Adam looks actually a little scared.

 

"Dan..." Phil starts to say, sensing he needs to diffuse this out of control situation, stat, but Dan seems not to hear him.

 

"You're pathetic, Adam." Dan spits. "Just back the fuck off, yeah? He doesn't want you."

 

"Dan, I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes..." Adam stammers out, hands raised in surrender.

 

He's beetroot red now, and fuck, Phil is a terrible person for getting him involved in this. Nobody should be involved in this, not even he and Dan. It's all too fucked up.

 

Dan just glares down at him, jaw muscle twitching wildly. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you went and threw yourself at him!" Dan cries, cheeks reddening. "He's not yours. He doesn't fucking want you!"

 

"Dan, stop!" Phil shouts, standing up too because for some reason he thinks that might help. "Adam hasn't done anything!" 

 

"Fuck off." Dan growls as Phil steps closer. "You're just as bad, you're whoring yourself out to him on  _my birthday-_ "

 

"Maybe it's because you're being a complete dick, Dan!" Phil can't stop himself saying. Dan stares at him for a second in silence. 

 

Then, he laughs. It's a deranged, humourless sound. “Right. I get it." Dan says, nodding. "Fine. Do what you want, Phil." Dan throws a sideways glance at Adam, sneering. "I bet he sucks in bed, anyway.”

 

Phil wants to tell Dan he's being ridiculous, but he can't think how to make Dan listen. His mouth flaps uselessly, and before he knows it, Dan has stormed out of the room. A door slams down the corridor, and Phil sighs, placing his head in his hands. 

 

Well, that was a fucking disaster. 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil knocks on Dan’s door more as a formality than a request for permission to enter. In this regard, he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before opening said door and walking straight into Dan’s bedroom.

 

It’s not exactly surprising that Dan scowls at him from his butt chair.

 

“Let me guess.” Phil sighs, flopping down onto Dan's bed. "Not talking to me?" 

 

“Get out, Phil." Is Dan's response, and Phil rolls his eyes.

 

"No."

 

"I don't want you in here." Dan grits out. "Go back to whoring yourself out to anyone that wanders in and leave me alone.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes again, marvelling at Dan's theatricality. He sure can sulk when he wants.

 

"Think I'm done with that now." Phil says, and Dan huffs with derision. 

 

"Asshole." 

 

"There you go." Phil says as he falls backwards onto the bed, frowning. His eyes slip closed, and he surrenders himself to a long, drawn out session of attempting to look sorry whilst Dan yells at him. "I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well get it all out. I'm a whore, I'm evil and malicious and you were right all along, yadda yadda. Go ahead, I'm listening." 

 

“You’re such a dick.” Dan says with an audible snarl. This time, the corner of Phil's mouth twitches up.

 

He really got under Dan's skin with all this Adam palava, didn't he? In a sadistic way, it's sort of amusing to know that he's able to make Dan all jealous and angry just by fake-flirting with one of their friends. Phil turns his face towards Dan, eyes opening slowly to assess him. He's seething with rage, it's plain to see. Dan's fingers grip the white plastic of the chair, his jaw is clenched so hard it looks painful, and the intensity of his glare has reached astronomical levels. 

 

"Bet it was really difficult." Phil says, not looking away from that harsh glare.

 

Dan's withering looks might intimidate someone like Adam, who is so used to Dan's silly, cheeky, friendly persona that it came as a shock to see anything else. But Phil knows every side of Dan. In fact, he's particularly acquainted with his sadistic side. There's nothing Dan can do to him that will hurt more than what he does to Phil every day, just by existing.

 

" _What_ was?" Dan can't seem to help asking. 

 

Phil waits an irritatingly long time before answering on purpose, finding that now he's started pissing Dan off, it's difficult to stop. "To watch me being like that with someone else." 

 

Dan doesn't say anything, so Phil decides to push it. 

 

"Must've been really hard, being forced to see me act like I wanted him and not you." Phil says carefully, watching each flicker of Dan's face. Is he getting through? "I bet it hurt. I bet it made you mad." 

 

Dan's expression is virtually unchanging, but his shoulders slump very slightly. “I get your point, Phil.”

 

Another smirk threatens to tug the corner of Phil's lips. He creases his brow. “Point? What point?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “You hammed up the flirting with Adam to show me what it's like.”

 

"What _what_  is like?" Phil asks, knowing very well that at this point he's just being annoying.

 

There's a long pause. Phil wonders if Dan will refuse to acknowledge his own dickishness out loud. 

 

"Seeing me with Cat." Dan says at last. 

 

Phil smiles, but the sensation of satisfaction he'd been hoping for doesn't come. In fact, he's still having trouble feeling much of anything tonight, apart from anger.

 

Oh well, that's what the mornings after birthdays are for - wallowing in the misery that the previous night created. He's sure that, come tomorrow, all of his tumultuous feelings of self-hatred and depression will have returned to him tenfold. There's no use mourning their absence now. He turns back to stare up at Dan’s ceiling.

 

He sighs. "So what now?" 

 

The ball is, after all, still firmly in the court of the Birthday Boy. If Dan wants to call this off tonight, that's up to him, even if Phil might want to embrace death at the mere thought of it. Six more months of having to wait to touch Dan again... could he really make it that far without succumbing to the swamp-thick, black, hideous void of depression that threatens to engulf him every day he has to spend not with Dan?

 

Phil's heart thumps a little harder as he waits for Dan's response.  

 

But Dan doesn't say anything, so Phil turns to look at him; he's still glaring. Phil rolls his eyes in irritation - are they honestly not past this hurdle yet?

 

"For God's sake, Dan." Phil says crossly. "You know I didn't _mean_ it. I don't fucking fancy Adam, alright? I would've thought that was fairly obvious considering I mope around after you every fucking day." 

 

"Is he still here?" Dan asks in a strange, disconnected voice.

 

Phil looks him over, wondering what he's thinking. “I saw him out about ten minutes ago.” Dan nods, as though he's pleased. Phil snorts at the reaction. "Why? Were you thinking of apologising to him?"

 

The look Dan gives him is furious enough to burn holes in Phil’s skin. 

 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Dan practically hisses.

 

One of Phil's eyebrows quirks up. Is he serious?  

 

“Um, maybe because you screamed at him for something he had no idea he was even doing wrong?” Phil suggests. 

 

Coiled in his chair like he is, Dan reminds Phil of a wild, carnivorous animal. Or perhaps a venomous cobra, tensed and ready to strike at any moment. Phil’s heart thuds in his chest – a dull, toneless sound echoing in his eardrum.

 

_Ba-dumpf. Ba-dumpf. Ba-dumpf._

 

“You're joking, right? Are you actually suggesting he had no idea that flirting with you would piss me off?” Dan asks, sounding incredulous.

 

Phil just stares at Dan like he's mad. "Dan... nobody knows we were ever-"

 

"Bollocks." Dan interrupts, dismissing that argument before it's even begun. "Everyone knew, Phil. Bryony knew. PJ suspected at least. Charlie damn well knew. Adam had to have known. Christ, it's so obvious that you like me even now that the fans can practically _smell_ it. That's why they won't let it go."  

 

"Okay," Phil allows, still frowning, "so maybe Adam might've suspected once or twice, but-"

 

"Don't fucking defend him!" Dan screams suddenly, leaping to his feet in a startling movement. Phil watches, mildly scared, as Dan stalks over to the bed in order to stand before him, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. "He _knew_! Just like you fucking well knew. You were _both_  fully aware that it would hurt me and you flirted with each other all night anyway, because you're just... just  _dicks_. You're selfish dicks and you just want to make me suffer-"

 

Alarmed by the unexpected outburst, Phil acts quickly, recognising this irrational-seeming behaviour for what it is, at last. A front for a deeply-rooted, monstrous insecurity. _Obviously_. How could Phil not have seen it sooner?

 

He grabs hold of Dan's wildly gesticulating hands and grips tightly, then yanks Dan close, pulling the younger boy onto his lap. Dan struggles to escape like a cat dropped into a tub of water, but Phil doesn't let go, even as fingernails dig into his skin, even as feet and knees knock into his legs. 

 

It takes about a minute of this before Dan gives in and begins kissing him, messy and frantic, his hands gripping Phil's hair as he pushes his tongue into Phil's mouth. Phil can actually hear the incredibly high tempo of Dan's heart resounding through both of their chests, so he holds Dan securely, locking him safely in his arms. 

 

In a vain attempt to gain some control, Phil keeps his responding movements firm but gentle, trying to slow Dan down, to reassure him. His answering kisses are soft against Dan's insistent mouth; Dan is all teeth and tongue, Phil steadies him with feather-light pecks. Dan's fingers grind bruises and tiny grazes into his scalp and skin where they grip forcefully; Phil, in response, just strokes his thumb over Dan's cheek, trails fingers down long, spindly arms. He holds Dan tight, but gives him room to breathe. 

 

For quite some time, however, Dan refuses to be calmed. He grinds his hips down into Phil's lap without mercy, working Phil into full hardness in mere seconds with his writhing. When Phil gasps in response, Dan pushes his tongue down Phil's throat, as though claiming him. Dan's hands grip either side of his face as his hips press into Phil's groin again and again, not letting up for a moment. 

 

"Don't let him touch you ever again." Dan snarls into Phil's mouth, teeth capturing the tender, already sore flesh of Phil's lower lip and tugging. 

 

Phil shivers at the command. Right now, to disobey seems absurd. How could he ever? Why would he want to, when Dan wants him this badly?

 

It's so easy, at times like this, to forget that Dan doesn't always want him this badly. In fact, most days, Dan doesn't want him at all. 

 

"Never." Phil agrees, because while logic might still be available to him, his desire for Dan will always win the fight against reason. 

 

“Tell me you don’t want him, Phil.” Dan near-whispers as he drags his mouth along Phil's jaw, up to the shell of his ear. Phil bites his lip against the peculiar tickle, hands tightening on Dan's waist.  

 

“I don’t want him.” Phil says in a giddy voice, squirming away from the odd sensations. Dan just keeps mouthing at him, his breath hot and damp as he exhales against Phil's ear. 

 

“Tell me you want me and nobody else.” Dan instructs him, and Phil's answering shudder is so intense that he thinks he might have fainted were he standing up. 

 

Dan's words are slicing through him like a steel knife through soft, shapeless butter. He squeezes Dan's waist, feeling helpless. What benefit does Dan receive from hearing something he knows to be true anyway from Phil's lips? Can he really be so insecure that he doubts it's true? 

 

“I don’t want anyone except you.” Phil says in a rush, surging backwards from the ear assault in an attempt to push his lips against Dan’s, but Dan ducks out of reach just in time.

 

“I don’t believe you.” Dan says solemnly, his eyes shining with pained sincerity.

 

There's a swooping sensation low in Phil's stomach, as though the organ itself has dropped right out of him, and he realises that Dan is telling the truth. He really doesn't believe it. The thought of it is practically fantastical in its absurdity to Phil, but somehow, by fake-flirting with another guy, he's rocked Dan's confidence tonight. 

 

“If you only want me, you wouldn’t have been eyefucking Adam all night.”

 

Dan probably intends this as an insult, but all Phil can hear is the pain in his voice. His heart splinters at the sound of it, because infuriating as Dan may be, Phil simply cannot stand seeing him in pain.

 

"I..." Phil starts to say, then swallows, trying to distil some of the cloudy haze of lust filling his mind. "I'm sorry."

 

Dan just looks pissed off again. "So you admit that you wanted him. But you're sorry about it."

 

"No!" Phil objects, mortified at the prospect. "Of course not. I don't get how you can even _think_ that I..." 

 

Phil sighs, frustrated with himself for not being able to articulate this well enough that Dan will stop being such a fucking idiot about it all. He forces himself to think properly, willing away all distracting thoughts as best he can - which isn't easy seeing as Dan is literally in his lap, kissable and ruffled on the night of his birthday. 

 

"Dan.” Phil says eventually, bringing their foreheads together so that they're forced to stare into one another's eyes. Phil cups one of Dan's cheeks in his hand, just gazing for a moment into the swirling, dark molasses of Dan's irises. "Dan." He says again, a little softer. “I don’t want anyone else. I never have. I never will. It's only you.”

 

Ah, there it is, Phil thinks as the numbness he's been concerned about all night splinters and cracks, giving way to a bubbling swamp of viscous, deadly pain and suffering beneath. Agonised by the horrific truth of his own confession, Phil watches Dan absorb the information bit by bit. Those hazelnut eyes swallow Phil's painful admission whole, and Phil just looks on as the truth of it floods into the cracks and holes of Dan's insecurities, filling them up one by one. Eventually, Dan blinks, drawing backwards to stare down at Phil in awe. 

 

Phil stares right back, equally filled with wonderment - though his is of a different sort. Phil's love for Dan is ultimate, unchanging, and utterly unbreakable. And thus, Dan is going to destroy him, he realises with a sudden, crippling fear. This ethereal, inhumanly perfect twenty-two year old with his ears pierced and an outdated side-fringe is going to systematically rip him apart year after year, building him up every six months only to knock him down until... Until Phil won't be able to piece himself back together anymore. It will surely be the case one day, after all. And then what? When Phil is too weak, too miserable, too broken to continue acting as though everything is okay, what will Dan do? Will he leave? Abandon Phil in the dirt he's pushed him into time after time?

 

As these terrifying thoughts of the future pummel Phil in a relentless torrent, a beautiful sight unfolds before Phil, right here and now. Dan smiles. The same, hauntingly familiar dimple that Phil has grown so fond of over the years pushes into Dan's scarcely freckled cheek. Phil stares at it in wonder, realising somewhat wistfully that he hasn't seen it in a while. Dan looks beautiful at all times of course, even when he's sending out his laser-death-glare. But when he smiles he is lit from within, a shimmering, glittering beacon of radiant, angelic light.

 

He aims that smile at Phil, and it's enough to stop Phil's heart, he's sure. Thankfully, though, for the time being, it keeps beating. And Phil is so glad, because it means he can keep seeing this. 

 

Dan leans forwards, bringing their lips centimetres apart. Phil braces himself for the kiss, telling himself to relish it, every flavour, every texture, because as he now realises, these birthday nights might well be limited. He needs to hold on to every last moment. The very instance before their lips touch, a noise startles them both:

 

_BZZZZZT._

 

Dan jumps backwards in surprise, head whipping around in the direction from whence it came. 

 

The sound is not unfamiliar, to either of them. They hear it practically every morning in fact, thanks to Phil's reliance on consumerism and good old retail therapy to help him through his darkest troughs of Dan-depression. The sound comes again: a loud, jarring buzz.

 

_BZZZZZZT._

 

Dan jumps again, which he seems embarrassed by, if his blush is anything to go by. Then, Dan's mouth presses into a tight line. This too, is somewhat unsurprising. In all likelihood, there's only one person that could be buzzing their flat this late, after all. Phil's stomach drops, and he sighs internally.

 

"It's, um, it's probably Adam." Phil says reluctantly, because although both of them are thinking it, it needs to be said aloud. "Maybe he forgot something."

 

For Christ's sake, Phil thinks, annoyed. He'd gotten so close to dismissing all of this ugliness for tonight.

 

Dan’s lips stay pressed together, and he doesn't reply. He does, however, clamber off of Phil's lap, moving back over to the butt chair. Phil doesn’t bother waiting for a response, as he's almost definitely not going to get one, and if he did it would only be something harsh and accusatory. It’s best to just get this over with, he thinks, getting up and leaving the room.

 

If it’s Adam, then he can just let him in, deal with whatever he needs quickly, and then return to Dan before there’s a chance of those insane jealous emotions coming out again. He's not sure he'd be able to talk Dan round again if he had another bitch fit, so Adam needs to be in and out before Dan sees him, ideally. 

 

Hopefully Dan is in agreement about that. 

 

Phil reaches the buzzer at the top of the stairs in under ten seconds; it has a small screen on it to show who’s at the door. He lifts the receiver, squinting into the screen to try and make out Adam's face in the grainy picture. He stares for a second, mouth open to ask what he's come back for, when he feels his breath leave his body, and he's left floundering for air. 

 

He stares at the screen in disbelief, the blood draining from his face just as the hope, happiness and optimism for the night ahead trickles out of his pores and seeps into their carpet. He'd been so caught up in what he would say to Adam to get him to leave before Dan could speak to him, that he didn't even consider what he would do if it _wasn't_ Adam. 

 

The phone stays pressed against his ear, but he's still too stunned to speak. 

 

Then, the buzzer sounds again, triple the volume because Phil is holding the speaker against his ear. He winces, feeling the noise jarr through him, breaking his trance. 

 

_BZZZZZZT._

 

This cannot be happening. Surely. But the longer Phil stares at the image on the screen, the less likely it seems that it will just go away.  

 

Perhaps Phil can just quietly put the receiver down. He could go back to Dan without letting on who is at the door. He could say that it's carol singers... in June. They're practicing, he could lie. Dan might laugh and say, 'hey that's weird', and then kiss him again, and they could go back to-

 

_BZZZZT._

 

Taking a deep breath, Phil closes his eyes. That had been a pleasant little fantasy. 

 

“Cat!” Phil exclaims, trying with all his might to sound pleased to see her. "Oh my God!" 

 

Instead, as one might expect, his voice comes out tinny and lifeless. Hopefully, Cat won't pick up on it through the crackly line. 

 

“Phil? Is that you?" Cat shouts into the buzzer. In the viewfinder, she brings her face right up to the speaker. “Did I wake you guys up? I'm sorry! But, hey, surprise!”

 

For a few more seconds, Phil allows this tiny pixelated version of her to be the only one that interrupts this night. If he keeps her on this little screen, he can pretend she's still all the way on the other side of the world. Just a few more seconds, Phil thinks, pleading with time to slow down. 

 

"Phil?" Cat shouts into Phil's ear again through the receiver. "Can you hear me? Could you buzz me up?" 

 

Phil swallows around the constriction in his throat. It’s painful, and tears spring to his eyes.

 

“Of course!” Phil manages to get out somehow, though the tears begin to spill over as he says it. He wipes them away quickly, before they have a chance to make tracks. “Sorry, I'm just so surprised to see you! Here.”

 

Cat smiles tiredly into the camera, seeing it at last, and Phil takes a few deep, calming breaths before pressing the buzzer. She lunges for the door the moment she hears it, yanking it open and pulling her suitcase inside with her.

 

Phil listens to the sound of the door opening downstairs; this is real, then. This is actually happening. There are several thumps as Cat begins dragging her case up all of the stairs to their living room. Phil’s first reaction is obviously to head down the stairs and help her, but he glances backwards first, towards Dan's room.

 

Dan has no idea. Perhaps Phil should warn him before Cat barges in. But then again, Phil thinks bitterly, feeling one of Dan's many knives slicing deeper into his heart, maybe he shouldn't. He's the one that procured himself a sweet, loving girlfriend that cares so much about him that she flew across the world to surprise him on his birthday. And equally, he's the one that was planning to cheat on her tonight. With Phil. Again. 

 

No, Phil thinks, swallowing around another painful lump in his throat. He isn't going to warn Dan. 

 

He heads down the stairs to help Cat with her things. Each step feels like a descent further into his own personal hell. 

 

* * *

 

It's almost laughable, the way Phil has no choice but to watch the heartwarming reuniting of the long-distance couple. Dan stumbles out of his room, wide-eyed, as soon as he hears Cat's voice probably. As soon as Cat sees him she yells 'happy birthday!' and runs full pelt into his arms, lips first, or so it seems to Phil. 

 

Dan seems too stunned by the sight of her to do anything but stand rigidly and be kissed, though after a few seconds, his wide open eyes glance over her shoulder towards Phil. It's just another in a long series of devastating punches to the gut. Phil tries a lot of things to get out of spending the rest of the evening with Dan and Cat. 

 

First, he feigns tiredness. 

 

"Well, it's lovely to see you, Cat." Phil yawns theatrically, every bone in his body aching to be anywhere but around her right now. He stretches his arms above him on the sofa, giving her a strained smile. "But I'm knackered. Think I'm gonna go to bed."

 

"What?" Cat cries in her silky American accent; she reaches over Dan's lap to place the coffee Phil made her on the arm of the sofa. "You can't be serious, Phil. I just got off a ten hour flight and I'm stayin' up til midnight." 

 

"Hah, I'm seriously impressed with your stamina, but y'know, the drinking, the party... all that social interaction really took it out of me..." Phil tries to argue, but Cat is having none of it. 

 

"Noo, come on! We gotta see out Dan's birthday." Cat pleads. "Besides, the party don't start til I walk in!"

 

"You don't have to stay up, Phil." Dan says, his quiet voice choked with guilt. 

 

"Dan!" Cat whines. "Don't encourage him. C'mon, let's play a game, keep the party mood going." 

 

So, Phil spends the final hour of Dan's birthday half-assedly engaged in a card game Cat tries to explain to them. It's a little bit like poker, from what Phil picks up, but honestly he can't concentrate on a damn thing she's saying. By the looks of things, Dan isn't doing much better. Cat maintains a level of energy that Phil is honestly astounded by for most of the game, but at some point she too seems to give up trying to engage them, and flops against Dan, the exhaustion catching up with her.

 

"Okay, now I'm wiped." Cat moans, her eyes falling shut.

 

Dan puts an awkward arm around her, and the sight of it knocks the air out of Phil's lungs. He can't remember how to breathe for a good five seconds, during which a fleeting thought passes across his brain that he might not mind dying right now if it meant he never had to look at Dan bestowing such sweet affection on anyone else ever again. 

 

Once he remembers how to inhale again, Phil pulls out his phone and checks the time. Mercifully, it's three minutes past midnight. This horrendous shitshow of a night has finally come to an end. 

 

"Well, you're in luck, Cat." Phil says, his voice far more sarcastic than he means it to be. "It's officially not Dan's birthday anymore. You're free to sleep. As are we all." 

 

Phil holds up the phone to show her, and she makes a sad face, turning to Dan. "Are you sad your birthday's over, sweetie?"

 

Nausea floods Phil's body. He closes his eyes against the feeling, willing it to pass. 

 

"Uh," Dan says unsurely, "maybe, I guess." 

 

Phil opens his eyes again to look at Dan, wondering. He's just in time to witness Cat reaching up to stroke her hand across Dan's cheek, just the way Phil did earlier. 

 

"Twenty-two..." Cat says dreamily, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. 

 

Okay, Phil thinks, now he really is in danger of throwing up. 

 

"I'm going to bed." Phil says suddenly, standing up before any further objections can be made. "See you in the morning, Cat." 

 

"Oh, goodnight, Phil!" Cat says happily, a sleepy smile on her blissfully ignorant, pretty face. 

 

Phil pauses in the doorway, turning back. His eyes lift to Dan's. He only does it because Cat might think it was weird if he didn't. "Night, Dan." 

 

Dan sends him a look, invisible to Cat, that hides a thousand unspoken apologies, but Phil doesn't listen to a single one. He turns away before any of them can make him feel anything akin to forgiveness. Without a word, he walks through the door. 

 

"Night." He hears softly, in Dan's voice, as he goes. The sound of it near sends him crumbling to his knees. 

 

It's dark in the hallway as Phil makes his way, alone, back to his room. He can't help glancing in Dan's open door, bile stinging his sore throat when he sees the spot he and Dan were sat, kissing, just moments before Cat arrived. It won't take long before Dan pulls her into this room instead. Perhaps he'll push her down against the covers of his bed where he had Phil only hours before. 

 

Will he fuck her tonight? Phil can't help but wonder, even as the thought of it forces his hands to scrunch into fists. Will he strip her down and kiss her and touch her like he was supposed to do to Phil? Does Birthday Sex still count as Birthday Sex if one of the parties isn't present? Phil wants to punch something, suddenly.

 

Preferably Dan, if he's entirely honest. 

 

It's so ridiculous. All of it, everything. Phil's whole life is a total joke. Each day is meaningless to him because it's just another obstacle on the way to the next time he can have Dan. And even on the birthdays themselves, Phil ends up miserable. Like right now. 

 

He turns to his own bedroom door, opening it at last. As he steps into the cold, dark, uninviting space, so devoid of everything he hoped he'd be joined by tonight, he remembers how jealous Dan had been of him and Adam earlier. How preposterous that overreaction seems now, in the face of _this -_ a literal, real girlfriend right in front of both of them, preventing them from doing the one thing they still have between them romantically. 

 

Phil tries to smile at the insanity of it all, but instead, his expression of neutrality breaks into heaving, gut-wrenching sobs. He closes his door quickly behind him and presses his back against it, biting his fist so that the others won't hear. Now that he's started crying it's impossible to stop. The tears flood his face, cascading down his cheeks. He thinks of Cat snuggled into Dan right now, under his arm on their sofa. He wonders what they're doing, if they're kissing now that Phil's out of the room.

 

Does Dan like to play with her hair just as much? Does he tilt his neck for her to kiss like he does for Phil? 

 

Questions like these attack him in their thousands, and Phil sinks, sliding down against the door in total darkness, his sobs muffled by his hand. He stays like that for some time, lips aching still from where Dan bruised them with his own. His skin still burns where Dan scraped it with his teeth. The bruises throb where Dan held on too tightly, terrified of letting Phil go in case Phil might leave him.  

 

How is he supposed to deal with this when the taste of Dan’s furious kiss is still on his tongue? How can he pretend to be okay when Dan's hot, jealous demands ring in his ears still? How is he ever going to face Cat tomorrow, knowing that the one thing that keeps him going through the achingly long, difficult months of endless heartbreak was stolen from him by her? 

 

Outside his door, footsteps sound, walking into Dan's room. The door closes behind them, and Cat laughs loudly. Phil can hear her clearly through the wall that separates him and Dan. He buries his face into the crook of his elbow, letting the tears come in their thousands. 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil isn’t sure when he falls asleep. He lies awake for hours in the darkness, listening to the laughter and low voices permeating the thin wall between his and Dan’s bedroom. He thinks about wearing headphones, but decides against it. He may not want to listen to this, but somehow he knows he’d feel worse if he couldn’t. His overactive imagination can be far crueller than his reality, at times.

 

He's a true Mr Brightside tonight, Phil thinks without so much as a smile.

 

He does eventually manage to sleep, his cheek pressed to the damp pillow beneath him as he tries not to think too hard about Cat’s lips replacing his own on Dan’s gorgeous skin.

 

When he wakes, it’s to the sliver of light that filters through when his door is opened a crack. Judging by the lack of daylight seeping past his blinds, Phil can deduce it’s still the middle of the night. He turns to his door in a bleary, tear-stained haze, uncomprehending.

 

“Phil?” A voice whispers.

 

Phil swallows, wiping his wet eyes. It’s Dan.

 

“Phil, are you awake?”

 

For a fleeting moment, Phil considers not responding. He imagines how much better it would be for both of them if he stayed silent until Dan was forced to leave the room and creep back into bed with the girl next door.

 

It’s a nice thought, while it lasts.

 

“Yeah.” Phil replies in a voice matching the quiet of Dan’s own.

 

Dan seems to take this reply as a cue to move further into the room, and he does, shutting the door softly behind him. He pads over towards the bed, and Phil watches him, his lanky silhouette just visible in the near-total darkness. He's hardly graceful as he picks his way across Phil’s clothes-littered floor, but he still reminds Phil of a gazelle treading stealthily through a silent forest. Eyes and ears alert for danger, each of his slow steps made with the utmost care.

 

Eventually, Dan makes it to the bed. Phil expects him to sit down so they can talk, but instead Dan just lifts the covers and climbs in. He scoots up to Phil, his limbs cold because he’s just in a t-shirt and boxers, and this is England so June doesn’t necessarily mean warm nights.

 

Dan slips a hand underneath Phil’s pyjama top, his fingers like ice against Phil’s bed-warmed skin. Phil sucks in a breath, moving towards him instinctually. He goes to warm Dan up, to bring him close and hold him until he’s given his body heat to the shivering boy in his arms.

 

He stops himself just in time.

 

“What are you doing?” Phil asks, bewildered. His mind is still half-asleep. He struggles to wrap his brain around what's happening. 

 

Dan’s hand stills on his stomach. “Resuming.”

 

Phil wants to weep. His heart truly cannot take much more of this. It’s bruised and scorched and bleeding. Every single time Dan throws him away in favour of something better, only to draw him back in again when it’s convenient, Phil’s heart is wounded a little deeper. Each time, it's a little bit harder to mend. This time, he hasn't even had more than a few hours to try and repair it. 

 

These excuses catch around the lump in his throat, and then it's too late. Dan’s lips are on his, desperate and urgent as always. Phil is helpless to resist him, just like always. His hands are around Dan’s waist before he can come to his own senses. He wonders for a moment if Dan waited long enough for Cat to fall asleep, and if there’s a possibility she’ll wake up and wonder why she’s in Dan's bed, all alone.

 

But this wondering is brief and fleeting, because Phil has Dan in his arms again, and after hours of crying, thinking he’d have to wait yet another six months to kiss him, this is Heaven in its purest form. This is a wishing-well, shooting-star, birthday-candle level miracle.

 

“You were right.” Dan whispers as he presses butterfly soft kisses along Phil’s jaw. “I have no right to be jealous of you and other people. Ever. Not when I...”

 

Dan trails off, and Phil holds back a sob. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He doesn’t want to think about _anything_ right now except for the musky, rosewater taste of Dan’s skin, and the slowly rising temperature of his body as it presses itself into Phil’s.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dan says. There’s a tiny break in his voice.

 

For the sake of his own sanity, Phil pretends that this break is caused by the hand he trails down Dan's spine. He can't bear to think of Dan hurting. It's somehow much worse to contemplate than his own pain. 

 

“It’s not your birthday anymore.” Phil mentions, an observation rather than an objection. He glances over at his bedside clock, reading the time as 03:05am. 

 

“We haven't broken any rules.” Dan whispers, sounding a little uncertain. "We kissed before midnight, so technically-"

 

Phil drives his lips into Dan's to shut him up. He doesn't care. 

 

They could have broken every 'rule' on that stupid fucking post-it and Phil would still try and kiss him right now. The rules are meaningless to him. Dan made them. Dan enforces them. Phil would rather they never existed at all. He kisses Dan harder, trying to stop thinking, so that he can pretend they don't. 

 

It doesn’t take long to have Dan underneath him. It takes even less time to have him naked, whimpering under Phil's ministrations, his miles of golden skin burning hot now, where it was so cold moments ago.

 

Phil’s fingers are quick and practiced at unravelling this particular boy, so it seems like mere moments pass before those same fingers are covered in slippery gel, inside of Dan. Phil watches his face in the half-light of the wee hours. It shocks him, somehow, that he can know every last inch of Dan's face, yet the expressions threading themselves through it when Phil takes him apart seem new each time. His ecstasy contorts and twists the features Phil knows as intimately as his own, making them near-unrecognisable at times. Always, though, consistently, Dan is the most beautiful sight Phil has ever laid eyes on. It's unfair that the winces and lip bites and eye-rolls that might render anyone else ugly are an Adonis-level of radiance on Dan Howell.

 

Phil watches him make these strange, fascinating faces for so long in the dark, that he fails to notice Dan become desperate. 

 

"Please, Phil..." Dan chokes out, flushed and gorgeous. 

 

Belatedly, Phil removes his three fingers from Dan and sits up. He flushes when he realises he has no idea how long he's been lost in his own admiration. It could have been minutes or hours for all he knows.

 

"Sorry." Phil mutters, reaching to push his pyjama bottoms down his legs. 

 

"Don't be." Dan gasps, staring straight up at the ceiling as he attempts to catch his breath. 

 

Phil swallows, and Dan meets his eye for a moment. Then his gaze travels downward, to where Phil is removing the last piece of clothing he's wearing. He's naked now, as is Dan. He stills for a moment under the intensity of Dan's gaze, feeling as insignificant as he has ever felt beside this Angel. He wonders, not for the first time, how Dan views him in moments like this one. 

 

It's no secret that Dan enjoys Phil's sexual ability, but it's reasonable to assume that Dan doesn't find him that attractive. Otherwise, it would be a lot harder for him to resist breaking the rules he loves so much, wouldn't it? Phil assumes that in terms of attraction, Dan sees him as a means to an end, rather than anything more.

 

For Dan, Phil is an object. A machine. Dan is the operator. He dictates how Phil moves, when he should function and how. Through his expertise in Phil-operation, Dan can pretty much get Phil to do whatever he wants, sexually speaking, and he will always get a satisfactory end result. 

 

Phil shifts awkwardly, shying away from Dan's calculative stare. He crosses his arm over his mid-section, trying to be discreet about it; Dan meets his eyes straight away.

 

"I want you so much, Phil." Dan says in a low voice. 

 

Yes, Phil thinks, mentally confirming his own theory. Dan wants him to perform his task. Dan doesn't see Phil and wax lyrical about his beauty to the point where the world falls quiet around him. He isn't awestruck by Phil's appearance like Phil is about Dan's every time they do this. Dan just wants Phil because Phil is the only one who can make him feel like this. 

 

Well, Phil thinks, shifting about as he searches for the bottle he threw down into the mess of sheets earlier, if that's all he has to keep Dan wanting him, then he will do his best to keep it that way. 

 

The moment Phil slides into him, Dan tips his head back, a long moan spilling from his throat. The sound of it makes Phil’s eyes widen in alarm, and he presses his palm over Dan’s mouth, stilling, fully sheathed inside of Dan, to listen for any sign that Cat may have heard through the wall.

 

He waits, heart pounding in his ears, for Cat to wake up, for her to realise the truth, for her to burst in here and see for herself that the boyfriend she loves and the friend she trusts are two, sordid, terrible people. What they are doing to her, right in this moment, is beyond cruel.

 

The still, silent air doesn't waver, however. No stirring sounds echo through the thin wall. She hasn't heard. Phil finds himself wishing, for some self-destructive, malicious reason born of his own jealous monster, that she had. Then Dan stirs beneath him. His legs squeeze around Phil’s waist, dragging him further into the hot, tight nest of his gorgeous body, and Phil melts, giving in to him.

 

He lifts his hand off Dan’s mouth, dipping his head to kiss him. “You have to be quiet.” He warns. 

 

Phil hates himself. He hates everything he is in this moment. 

 

Poor, stupid, oblivious Cat.

 

Horrible, cheating, manipulative Dan.

 

Weak, pathetic, selfish Phil. 

 

If only he weren't such a coward. If only he could resist Dan, just this once. 

 

Dan nods frantically. "I will." 

 

By the sound of his garbled, hurried whisper, Phil gets the sense that Dan barely even understands what he's agreeing to right now. He's pretty far gone, it's easy to see. The tiny sliver of light from the streetlight that manages to sneak through Phil's blind is glinting off Dan's forehead, peppering his skin with little stars. His breathing is ragged, and his arms are wrapped around Phil's neck like an baby orangutan hanging off its parent. 

 

There's virtually no hope in Phil's brain that Dan will actually manage to stay quiet once he continues, but he has to at least try. He's going to have to keep himself under control so that Dan won't give them away. A traitorous thrill lances down Phil's spine at the sinful thought of this.

 

Fucking Dan while his girlfriend sleeps a wall away might be the most awful thing he's ever done, but there's no denying that it's exciting. It excites Dan too, if his wide, lustblown pupils are anything to go by. 

 

 _“Phil_ …” Dan whines, on the verge of being too loud. His legs squeeze around Phil's waist again, and Phil gasps. “ _Please_ ….”

 

Well, it's too late to back out at this point, even if he thought he had the willpower to do so. Sucking in a breath made up primarily of Dan's frantic exhales, Phil draws out slightly, then pushes into Dan’s slick, tight warmth. He chokes back a groan as the bliss floods his entire body, and forces himself to look somewhere other than Dan's face, lest this all be over very quickly. 

 

Oh, Dan is not quiet.

 

Phil is no amateur at this. He may even claim to be an expert in this particular area, in fact. His expertise being, of course, Dan. All things Dan, but specifically how to unravel him piece by piece, how to open him up, find his core and coax it into a state of pure ecstasy. With all his years of experience, Phil is sure that he could do this blind. The dips and curves of Dan’s body are as familiar under his practiced fingers as the patterns of braille might be to a blind man. In the rare moments Dan allows him, Phil traces each of these patterns individually, using them as maps to the stars, the stars being the secret, protected places where Dan is most sensitive. With his expertise, Phil knows the placement of each one, and how to find it. As he makes love to Dan, he ensures each one is given undivided attention, so that Dan will fall apart under him, and come back to Phil six months later for more.

 

Nobody else could do this to him, after all. That's why Dan can't help himself. 

 

The issue tonight, of course, is that unravelling Dan in this way is by no means a quiet activity. Normally, Phil drinks in Dan's explicit curses, his wanton moans, so that he can replay them on later nights, when his bed feels cold and empty. Tonight, however, these moans are dangerous. They could lead to _cat_ astrophe, no pun intended.  

 

"Shhhh." Phil urges into Dan's ear as he buries himself inside of Dan for the tenth time.

 

Dan sobs, dropping his head to Phil's shoulder and then biting at the skin there, perhaps in the intention of keeping himself quiet. Phil can feel his orgasm building in the midst of the slick heat between their bodies, and instinctually he shifts position, angling his hips.

 

As soon as he pushes against Dan's prostate, Dan seems to lose control. He cries out in ecstasy, loud enough to wake the whole street let alone the next room. His his hands scrabble over Phil’s back, and his lips press frantic kisses against Phil's skin everywhere he can reach. 

 

"Phil, Phil, Phil..." He chants, still far too loud. 

 

Phil doesn't know what to do, he's terrified of this, of what could happen if his and Dan's shameful, dark little secret were discovered not only by a third party, but by Dan's  _girlfriend._ How could they ever live it down? Cat could tell everyone - their audience, their friends, their family. She would have every right to. Their lives might be ruined if she found out. 

 

In a state of hazy, lust-fuelled panic, Phil slaps a hand over Dan's mouth again, silencing his cries. Dan doesn't even seem to notice, he just continues his moans, muffled now by Phil's palm. So Phil thrusts into him, picking up the pace now. He's too scared of this to draw it out for much longer. Besides, Dan looks seconds away from exploding. 

 

He aims for that sensitive place tucked inside of Dan, maintaining a steady, somewhat brutal pace as he chases his own building high. He can feel the telltale tremors wracking Dan’s body as he pushes into it. He listens, above his own pants, to the moans and screams choking out from behind his own hand. There are tears sparkling in Dan's eyes; his arms are locked tight around Phil's neck.

 

A stray, paralysing thought jumps into his brain, that perhaps Cat is awake. Perhaps she has been all along, just listening in shocked silence as she lies, horrified, in Dan's empty bed. 

 

The shock of his own orgasm is almost blinding as it knocks into him. He moans despite himself, though he tries hard to choke it back. He feels his hips stutter as he comes inside of Dan, one hand holding tight to his hip, the other still planted firmly over his mouth. He doesn't notice at first, lost as he is in the sensation of his own orgasm, but Dan comes too, almost immediately after him. Once Phil calms down a little, he removes his hand from Dan's mouth, confused by the moisture splattered across their chests and stomachs. Then he realises that Dan is boneless beneath him, his cock slowly softening as he tries to catch his breath. 

 

Tear tracks mark Dan's cheeks. The lights still glints off them. 

 

Phil pulls out of him with care, then eases himself down on the bed beside him, his whole body tingling. The high of his orgasm is dissipating bit by bit, and Phil begs it to stay, though it doesn't listen. As it fades, he turns to Dan, awed as ever to see him on the next pillow over, naked and exhausted in the half-light. 

 

Dan stares straight up, his chest rising and falling, his breaths beginning to even out. Phil shifts towards him because he is a slave to his own cravings of post-coital intimacy. He buries his face into Dan's neck, prepared to stay there, inhaling the musky, treacly scent of him until he is forcibly removed. 

 

They don’t speak. There’s nothing to say.

 

Time passes, measured only by the slowly shifting shadows pouring onto the floor. Phil thinks Dan might have fallen asleep, judging by the steadiness of his breathing.

 

Then, out of the blue, Dan’s head turns, and his hand reaches over to feel Phil’s pillow.

 

Phil holds his breath.

 

He knows just how soaked that pillow is with his tears. What must Dan be thinking, as he touches it?

 

Part of Phil wishes he could see Dan’s expression, but a larger part is glad he can't. Dan is most likely disgusted by Phil's overly-emotional private display. Or he's indifferent to it. Phil isn't sure which would be worse. 

 

Perhaps if Phil says nothing, Dan will think he’s fallen asleep. Then they can pretend that this was just another night of Birthday Sex, and that no feeling were irreparably damaged, and nobody wept for hours into a pillow, and they never fought and they never accused one another of jealousy that neither of them seem to be able to control. 

 

“Phil?” Dan says softly.

 

A mouth presses itself to the top of Phil’s head. Phil closes his eyes against the feeling, letting it temporarily patch his wounded heart.  

 

“Yes?”

 

“I have to go.” Dan says with hesitance. He sounds sorrowful. Or perhaps Phil just wishes he does.

 

“Oh.”

 

Phil understands what Dan means. Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from Dan's shoulder, then removes each of his limbs from where they’re tangled in Dan’s. He doesn't meet Dan's eyes. He can't. Instead, he rolls over obediently; his own side of the bed is cold and damp as he shifts over into it; he can’t stop the shudder that pulses through him as he lies there, waiting for Dan to slip out of the covers, to pick his way back across Phil's room and back into his own.

 

This doesn't happen. There's no movement behind him. So, hesitantly, Phil looks over his shoulder. 

 

Dan just watches him, the space Phil has placed between them in this bed feeling suddenly like a chasm. 

 

“I can stay a little longer, maybe.” Dan says after a while. Phil turns to face him properly. 

 

“Cat will notice if you stay too long.” Phil replies. The lack of emotion in his own voice stuns him a little. 

 

“She’s asleep.” Dan replies, chewing his lip. “She won’t know.”

 

Phil’s eyes move to the mattress. “Lucky her.”

 

As soon as the words leave Phil's lips, he expects them to be met with anger. He’s so used to Dan blaming him at this point that it wouldn't be surprising. Dan is always right about this, and Phil is always wrong. Dan's idea to implement Birthday Sex is sensible and rational. Phil getting hurt and sad in reaction to it is stupid and unreasonable. This is what Phil has learned. 

 

This is why Phil is blindsided when Dan shuffles across the bed towards him. He crosses the chasm between them in one quick movement and curls himself into Phil’s arms.

 

“Please don’t hate me.” Dan sobs into Phil's shoulder.

 

For a moment, Phil is too stunned to move. It's habit, along with his own longing, that causes him to wrap his arms right around Dan and hold him tightly. His heart aches unbearably, but he pushes the pain away for now, in favour of Dan's. He kisses Dan's head, muttering soothing words into his hair. Eventually, Dan pulls back a short way, staring up at Phil. 

 

"I'm sorry." Dan tells him, the words seeming to stick in his throat for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Phil." 

 

Phil stares down at this beautiful disaster, unable to help the tiny smile quirking the corner of his lips. He strokes Dan’s hair, taking in every inch of him, drinking down that gorgeous, frightened little doe look he wears. In this moment, and in every moment, he loves Dan with all his heart. 

 

Suddenly, nothing else seems to matter but that. 

 

Phil kisses him softly, letting himself bask in the feather soft touch of their lips against one another, as perfectly fitted as yin and yang. Dan is tired, he can tell. He needs softness and reassurance. He needs to be held all night long by someone that loves him unconditionally. Perhaps that will be Phil for a few hours, and then Cat for a few more. It doesn't matter, really. As long as Dan is okay. 

 

“Happy birthday.” Phil whispers, giving Dan a tiny, watery smile. His eyes begin to droop, and he sighs. "Love you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Phil tweets about spending Dan's birthday with Bryony, Wirrow and Adam  
> \- AmazingPhil (2013), "Celebrating the birth of @danisnotonfire with @whataboutadam @MissPaperlilies and @wirrow :D" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/344511443657428993.
> 
> Phil tweets Dan happy birthday  
> \- AmazingPhil (2013), "HAPPY BIRTHDAY @danisnotonfire :D" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/344403476400447488.
> 
> Phil tweets about Adam moving out after staying at his and Dan's flat for several months  
> \- Amazingphil (2012), "Aw @whataboutadam has moved out :[ WE MISS YOU!" [tweet], https://twitter.com/amazingphil/status/246961723981062144?lang=en.
> 
> Dan's Vine at 12am on his 22nd birthday  
> \- Dan Howell (2013), [Vine], https://vine.co/v/blWzVJAdjMB. 
> 
> BONUS SOURCE THAT I COULDN'T FIND A WAY TO INCORPORATE INTO THE CHAPTER:
> 
> Fans sing happy birthday to Dan outside BBC Radio One Headquarters the night before his birthday  
> \- Debora Terron (2013), "Happy Birthday to Dan!! | BBC radio 1 | Dan and Phil" [Youtube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrNlmypyjcM.


	6. Phil's Twenty-Seventh Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best Birthday Ever. Dan's making sure of it.

January 30th, 2014 (Phil is 27)

 

_(A few months before Phil's birthday)_

 

They're at Bryony's flat, in West London. It's the fifteenth of December, and Dan is wearing a Christmas jumper. He tells everyone who will listen that this is practically blasphemy, and that he hates what he has become, but he's secretly loving the warm, festive atmosphere in here. He's never had Christmas with friends before.

 

Well, apart from his little, private pre-Christmases with Phil. But those are nothing huge. They just have a designated day before they go back to their families that's just for them, so that they can drink festive Starbucks coffees, exchange presents, eat mince pies and watch Elf until they fall asleep on the sofa. 

 

Dan looks over the room towards Phil now, sat with his legs crossed underneath him beside the modest Christmas tree. Bryony doesn't usually go in for all the over-the-top Christmas palava the way that Phil insists he and Dan do, but she's done well this year. Maybe it's because she's hosting this 'friends Christmas', so she thought she should step up her game. 

 

A fire roars in the fireplace. A real one, too, not like the pretend gas one in Dan and Phil's flat. Holly is wound around the curtain poles, and mistletoe (which everyone is carefully avoiding save for Bry and Wirrow) hangs above the door to the hall. The Christmas tree is real and shedding absolutely everywhere, but Dan can forgive that because of the delicious piney scent filling the room.

 

Under the tree are everyone's Secret Santa presents, positioned neatly. Dan catches sight of the one he brought along, for Wirrow. He's bought him a pretty wooden box of posh artist inks that cost a small fortune, and neatly wrapped them in red and green tartan paper. Beside his present lies Phil's, obviously. Dan knows because he'd been next to Phil when he wrapped it, but he'd know anyway because it's so badly wrapped. It makes Dan smile, looking at how haphazardly each seam is stuck down. 

 

Phil catches sight of him smiling, then, like he has a sixth sense, and sends him a curious look, tilting his head to the side. Dan just sips his drink, watching Adam sat beside him, attempting to re-engage Phil in conversation. 

 

There aren't any negative emotions about seeing Adam next to Phil anymore, which is a relief. Pretty much the instant Cat waltzed in on his birthday, the sight of her very obviously shattering Phil's heart into pieces, Dan realised just how big of a twat he really is. Moreover, he realised what a giant, unforgivable dick he'd been to Adam that night.

 

In the days that followed June 11th, Dan had quite a lot of things to try and smooth over - Cat, Phil, the aftermath of his party, organisation of his whole clusterfucking life, etc. But he made sure to prioritise fixing things with Adam. He knows himself well, and though his procrastination threatened to take hold, Dan forced himself to physically walk out of the door, buy a card and stamps, go home and write a long-ass message of apology, then send it less than an hour later. 

 

After that, he texted Adam a more concise version of the same message, with the added encouragement for Adam to shout at him, or tell him to fuck off, because honestly he totally deserves it. 

 

Adam had, of course, been a sweet little Irish angel about the entire thing. He'd forgiven Dan immediately, messaging him back at once, saying something about too much alcohol bringing out our worst demons, and how he's found himself accidentally sandwiched between one too many are-they-aren't-they couples and he understands. Dan's immediate reaction is obviously to deny this point-blank, to tell Adam he's misunderstood something, that Phil and Dan are just friends. 

 

He's actually typing this into the chat box, in fact, when he realises, somewhat sheepishly, that there's not a chance in fucking hell that Adam would ever believe him. 

 

_"He's not yours! He doesn't fucking want you!"_

 

Dan remembers himself shouting this into Adam's face and he cringes, deleting the denial he's typed out. God, he thinks, he should lay off the alcohol for a bit. He's always known he's a jealous person, but his behaviour then had been like something off Desperate Housewives. 

 

He types out a new response instead:

 

 **To: Adam**  
**From: Dan**  
**19:23pm**  
**12.06.13**  
Thanks, Adam. I appreciate you  
being so understanding. I'll make  
it up to you, I promise.

 

With that, Dan locks his phone and resolves to put the whole mess behind him. But something niggles at the back of his mind. Adam _knows_ about them. He doesn't know everything, obviously, but he knows that he and Phil are at least not entirely platonic. For a day or so after he's first apologised, Dan tries to ignore it. He knows it doesn't matter, really, and that in all likelihood Adam would never say a word. Bryony's never said anything, after all. 

 

 _But what if he did..._ Something deep and horrible inside of Dan whispers. 

 

Three days after he sent the card to Adam, Dan is sat watching The Dark Knight on the sofa with Phil, and he suddenly can't stand it any longer. He pulls his phone out and opens up his text conversation with Adam again, under the curious of eye of Phil, as ever. 

 

 **To: Adam**  
**From: Dan**  
**21:31pm**  
**15.06.13**  
Hey, I know I have no right to  
be asking favours right now in  
my position, but ~~I'd~~  we'd be  
really grateful if you would keep  
this on the DL. Ironic as it may  
seem to you considering my  
behaviour on Tuesday, we don't want  
anyone else speculating on our  
friendship.

 

Dan sends it before he can change his mind, turning back to the TV in front of him. He can feel Phil staring at him from the other end of the sofa, but he doesn't turn to him. Things have been pretty frosty between he and Phil in the last few days since the 11th, so it's not that weird that they aren't chatty Cathy's tonight. 

 

It seems like hours slip by, but then there's a vibration in Dan's pocket, and he pulls his phone out, heart pounding. 

 

 **To: Dan**  
**From: Adam**  
**21:45pm**  
**15.06.13**  
Hey, Dan. No problem. I wouldn't  
have said anything anyway. It's  
yours and Phil's business. By the  
way, thank you for the card and  
present, it was sweet of you to send it.  
See you guys soon I hope. 

 

Dan sighs in relief, reading Adam's reply. He tucks his phone away, glad that one thing, at least, is dealt with. 

 

Bryony's bossy voice hauls Dan out of his memories, and he turns to her, back in the present again. He can still feel Phil's eyes on him, probably because he's spent around five minutes totally zoned out on the sofa. He glances over at his best friend, intending to give him a reassuring smile, but the moment their eyes lock, he finds that he simply can't. 

 

The last few months have been... tough. For both of them. Even if they might not verbally acknowledge it, the events of Dan's last birthday have affected them in different, but equally negative ways. Nothing slotted back into place this time, like it usually does after they fight. There's been very little casual banter exchanged between them, or laughter. They go through the motions of their familiar, easy friendship - playing Mario Kart, making an extra cup of tea or coffee, preparing enough dinner for two, watching a film or anime in the evening - but the foundation of their Dan-and-Phil-ness has been shaken. Dan can feel it, and Phil can feel it too, he's sure. They tiptoe around one another now, frightened by the memory of that night, of the severity of their words, and whether an accidental foot wrong could trigger another war.

 

Phil stares back at him across Bryony's prettily decorated living room, and Dan just knows that he's thinking the same thing. There's a sorrow in his eyes that's been there for too long. Dan can remember a time before it existed in those swimming-pool blue irises. 

 

"Is anyone listening to me, you fuckwits?! Secret Santa time!" Bryony shouts again, and everyone cheers. Dan turns towards her, ripping his gaze away from Phil at last. 

 

"Bah, humbug." Dan declares, earning himself several boos. 

 

* * *

 

It's eleven o'clock at night, and Dan is tired as heck. He's about to lift himself off Bryony's sofa to find Phil and suggest they think about getting a cab home, but Bryony herself plonks down beside him. She twirls her little red camera in one hand, playing with it absent-mindedly as she stares at him. 

 

He smiles at her wearily. "Hey." 

 

"Hello." She says, eyeing him with scrutiny. "Everyone's in the kitchen trying Adam's apparently famous cocktail." 

 

"Ah." Dan says, nodding. "Sounds like I'm missing out."

 

"Not sure you are." Bryony sighs, huffing a laugh. "I don't know what the ingredients of an Adam Special are, but I think I saw him put a teabag in it." 

 

Dan laughs, leaning his head onto Bryony's shoulder. She reaches around his shoulders and gives his head a little stroke.

 

"Oh, Dan." She sighs in a mumsy voice. "Little lost Dan." 

 

Dan chuckles, her hair tickling his mouth. "Lost?" 

 

"Mmm." Bryony replies vaguely, clearly not intending on elaborating. "Can I ask you something, Dan?" 

 

"Sure." He says, yawning. 

 

"Are you and Phil broken up?" 

 

Dan's body goes rigid, and he curses himself for being so obvious. He forces himself to relax, to laugh as though it's absurd. "Um, what?" 

 

Shit, his mind exclaims in a panic. How can he exit this situation, fast? Could downing an Adam Special be worse than enduring this conversation?

 

"I know you never... really said you two were a thing." Bryony says quickly, like she's trying to spit it all out at once. Dan sits up, his head swimming a little as he looks around the room in alarm for anyone who might be eavesdropping. "But, well, obviously something was going on." She looks at him, two little pink spots on her cheeks, as though waiting for him to deny it. Dan knows though, just like he knew with Adam, that to deny it to Bryony would be pointless. She's seen he and Phil in the height of their romantic relationship with her own two eyes. She's given them a bed to share. She's more than likely been forced to listen to them having sex in her last, much smaller, much less well-insulated flat. "And now... it's just, you guys aren't the same as you were."

 

Dan fidgets uncomfortably, wondering if Bryony would be offended if he just didn't answer. He sighs, knowing that she's only asking out of friendly concern. "Um, yes." Dan says at last, not looking at her. His back is ramrod straight, not even touching the sofa cushions. "We're... not together."

 

Bryony nods, twiddling her camera. "Right."

 

Please don't ask why. Don't ask how. Don't ask anything else at all, Dan begs silently. 

 

"Since when?" Bryony asks, clearly putting a lot of effort into sounding casual. 

 

"Just before my twentieth." Dan answers, wincing slightly when he remembers this implicates her somewhat. 

 

Bryony gazes at him in surprise. "When you came to stay? When we went to the zoo?" 

 

"Yeah." Dan admits. "Sorry we didn't tell you."

 

"You shared a bed." She remembers, looking at him dumbly. 

 

Dan blushes, remembering too. "Yeah, um. We didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so..." 

 

Bryony's cheeks are pink enough for Dan to know that she's remembering other things about that night too. Probably the sounds of two boys moaning through her flimsy walls as they fucked on her guest bed. Dan purposefully looks down at his knees, willing this moment to end. 

 

"I guess it makes sense now about..." Bryony side-eyes him, her lips twisting. "Cat." 

 

Dan nods, shrugging. "Yeah."

 

"I always thought that was just kind of a showmance." Bryony admits, brutally honest as always. "I never even saw you both in the same room, I don't think. I thought it was all for the views." 

 

Dan laughs humourlessly. "No, no. It was real." 

 

An image flashes into his mind before he can stop it. Cat's beautiful face, crumpled and damp, her eye makeup smudged by her own sleeve. He shakes it away, swallowing around a painful lump in his throat. 

 

"You can't have loved her, though." Bryony says, like it's absurd. "And with Phil living right next do-"

 

"Can we not?" Dan interrupts a little sharper than he means to. "Not talk about this, I mean." 

 

Bryony's eyebrows raise, but she falls quiet. 

 

Dan fidgets around in the silence until he can't stand it any more. "Yes, okay, maybe I used her to try and push Phil into accepting things were over. Yes, that was a horrible, awful thing to do to both him and Cat. But I've spent every fucking day paying for it, and I imagine I probably will forever. So, it all balances out." 

 

Dan buries his face into his hands, mostly so he doesn't have to look into Bryony's rightfully disappointed face. After a while, he feels a gentle hand on his back, and he sighs, lifting his head to look at her. 

 

"You should look at this." Bryony says unexpectedly. 

 

Dan frowns, and Bryony flips open the viewfinder of her camera, bringing it up to show him as she flips through her video files. She clicks on one, opening it up to play. It's from Dan's birthday. Dan wants to turn away at once, he's been trying to forget that whole dreadful night, after all. He doesn't though, for some reason, and Bryony starts the video. 

 

It's early on in the night. Dan is not as drunk as he remembers being by the end, and Phil trails at his elbow wherever he moves, happy to follow him with a broad smile. The video is pretty boring in of itself, it's just Dan being peppered with questions by Bryony and Wirrow, and giving mildly witty responses. It's more than apparent why Bryony is showing him, however. 

 

No matter what Dan says, or how unfunny he might be, Phil smiles at him so brightly that he exudes sunlight from his every pore. He laughs at Dan's jokes like they're the funniest thing he's ever heard. If Dan makes a comment that falls flat, Phil tags on the end of it with something clever and funny, making it shine. 

 

His eyes are never off Dan. They barely even blink. It's as though he can't bear to lift his gaze away from Dan for even a second to pass. At around five minutes into the video, Bryony has cornered Dan and Phil in their kitchen.

 

"See, there's a good friend, Bry!" The Dan on-screen says, grinning as he jabs his thumb towards Phil. "Someone who offers to become your own personal butler on your birthday." 

 

The on-screen Phil rolls his eyes fondly, nudging Dan in the side with his elbow. Dan turns to grin at him, their eyes locking for a fraction of a second too long as Bryony giggles behind the camera. 

 

"Yeah, you're one lucky guy, Dan." Bryony's disembodied voice says, and Dan turns back to the camera, smiling. It fades, slowly, dissipating into something deeper, and sweeter. 

 

Dan, watching himself, feels his breath catch. 

 

"Yeah," his past-self says in a dreamy voice. A noise sounds, sounding a lot like their buzzer back home, and the camera shuts off. 

 

Dan stares at the black screen of Bryony's viewfinder in shock. 

 

"Could you see why I was a little confused?" Bryony asks gently, and Dan doesn't know what to say. 

 

Luckily, before he has to conjure up an answer, the others burst back into the room, each clasping a glass liquid the distinct colour of pond-water. 

 

"Okay, Adam Specials are my new favourite cocktail!" Wirrow declares, and Phil laughs, clinking his glass against the others'. 

 

In the midst of the distraction, Dan gets up from the sofa and escapes. 

 

* * *

 

Phil doesn’t ask about it, he just stops bringing her up.

 

Initially, this annoys Dan slightly. He wonders whether Phil is so happy about Cat being finally out of the picture that he is just spitefully pretending she never even happened. The annoyance fades fast, however, as Phil's actions begin to speak louder than his words. Dan loses track of how many times he stays up too late on the sofa, watching anime and scrolling Tumblr because he doesn't want to sleep. He loses track of how many times he wakes up with a blanket over him, his laptop placed on the coffee table, his phone plugged in, a cup of still-warm tea by his head. 

 

Dan mopes about the flat for a while after the break-up, and Phil takes it upon himself to organise their upcoming work schedules, collectively. He doesn't listen to Dan's protestations about how awkward it will be to share a stage with Cat at VidCon, or how he doesn't have the energy to plan ten billion radio shows and make a Danisnotonfire video every month along with attending boring meetings and everything else. 

 

Phil books their flights to LA for VidCon, and confirms their places at Summer in the City. Dan just lets him in the end. He knows that Phil is right, and that they have to keep up appearances no matter how difficult things become in their personal lives. Dan plasters on a smile during the radio shows each Friday; it's only an hour, after all. 

 

VidCon isn't quite as horrific as he thinks it will be, but that's not to say that it's enjoyable. Dan dreads his first sight of Cat, but she greets him with a hug and a smile, then proceeds to spend the rest of VidCon alternating between throwing passive aggressive jibes his way and making vaguely flirty comments. 

 

A particularly memorable example of this occurs during the Creator's Chillout Party, whilst he, Cat, Phil, Mitchell and Matt are sat on pretentious white beanbags in an ultraviolet lit room. Dan's wearing his leather t-shirt for reasons that seemed funny an hour ago, but now seem ridiculous and stupid to the point where he's considering pouring his drink all over it so he has an excuse to go and change. 

 

Phil is babbling about something silly because Cat's camera is pointed at him, and he makes a weak joke about having stolen all of his clothes, along with the beanbag he's currently sat on. 

 

"And when are you gonna take off Dan's shirt?" Cat asks out of nowhere, and Phil's eyes widen almost imperceptibly to everyone but Dan. 

 

Luckily, Dan is on edge enough that he was prepared for a jibe. He smiles for the camera. "Yeah, hah, that's the debate." 

 

Cat smiles back at him, dead-eyed, and spins the camera back around to face her. "I actually think it's pretty freakin' cool, and he reminds me of Peter Pan right now." 

 

Dan fidgets awkwardly, thinking of how to divert the conversation. 

 

"Phil thinks it looks like what Dexter wears when he stabs people." Dan laughs, remembering Phil telling him this without hesitation as soon as he put it on the first time. 

 

Mitchell leans forwards to feel the fabric between his fingers. "Are you hot?" He asks, barely concealing the look of disgust on his face. "Are you hot right now?" 

 

"Uh, no-" Dan starts to say, but Cat interrupts him, spinning the camera around to face her again. 

 

"Of course he's hot! He's Danisnotonfire!" She jokes, and everyone laughs politely, despite it making little actual sense. 

 

Much of the rest of VidCon passes this way, with Cat's near-constant vlogging keeping Dan on edge for the majority of the time. Phil, in turn, watches the two of them fearfully, evidently terrified that they're about to leap back into one another's arms right in front of him at any point. 

 

They don't, however. Somehow, during the few days of the convention, they manage to carve out some sort of workable way of being pleasant to one another. This in itself astounds Dan to no end, because when he compares it to his attempt to be just friends with Phil after they'd broken up, it's virtually a gold medal achievement.

 

The taxi pulls into their road, and Dan realises he's been zoned out for the whole ride back from Bryony's, reminiscing about VidCon and the summer. He glances across the backseat at Phil, who is staring out of his window, just as lost in thought. 

 

He's glad the summer is over. 

 

* * *

 

“Phil.” Dan says on the evening of December nineteenth, closing his laptop decisively and placing it on the sofa arm. “Let’s talk about your birthday.”

 

Phil is sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapping presents extremely badly and humming Jingle Bells. He stops mid-hum, eyes fearful as he glances up at Dan.

 

“What about it?”

 

Dan shifts into a better position, sitting upright and placing his hands in his lap. “I want it to be good.”

 

Phil blinks at him, then barks a laugh. “…Okay?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “No, listen. I've been thinking about this for ages. Our last couple of birthdays have been crap.”

 

Phil fidgets uncomfortably. His finger holds down a flap on the present he’s wrapping, and he sellotapes it in place, not responding. The flap springs open again, not doing as Phil tells it. Dan decides to just continue.

 

“I know, I know, it’s largely my fault.” Dan admits, rolling his eyes again. “But the whole point of our little agreement thing is that we use our birthdays as, like, a life raft of _fun_ and _nice_ between all the frustration and misery of the rest of the year. Do you know what I mean?”

 

Phil sighs through his nose, taping the flap more securely this time before looking up at Dan. “Yeah.”

 

He sounds despondent, and Dan cannot blame him whatsoever. He has no reason to believe in Dan’s mad, ridiculous Birthday Sex plan after all. Especially considering the last few times they’ve done it.

 

“It’s okay, though.” Dan says, trying to sounds firm and reassuring. “Because your next birthday is going to be the best ever.”

 

Phil raises an eyebrow, smiling sadly at Dan. “Kay.”

 

Becoming frustrated with Phil’s monosyllabic answers, Dan decides to ramp up his enthusiasm to get Phil on board. He slides off the sofa and kneels before Phil, pushes the present to one side and grips him by the shoulders.

 

“Philip Lester.” He says seriously, gazing into the older man’s inhumanly blue eyes. “You mark my words. I, Dan Howell, will give you the best twenty-seventh birthday that anyone on God’s green earth has ever had.”

 

Phil splutters a little, and Dan smiles. “How’re you gonna do that?”

 

The temptation is too much to resist, so Dan gives Phil a cheeky wink.

 

Phil rolls his eyes, blushing faintly. “Apart from that.”

 

“I’ll throw you a party.” Dan says, plucking the idea out of thin air. “A really big, glitzy party, right here. I’ll invite everyone you know.”

 

“That… didn’t work out so well last time.” Phil protests feebly.

 

Dan flaps his hand in the air, as though waving the past away. “That was nothing. That was a small gathering at most. And I’ll be on my best behaviour, I swear. Besides, Adam's forgiven me.”

 

"Has he?" Phil asks, sounding bewildered by this information. Dan nods, happily. Clearly unconvinced, Phil chews his lip, eyeing Dan with caution. “Maybe… we should leave Adam off the invite list.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Phil. I know how much you like him. We can't stop inviting him to things just because I'm a crazy jealous bitch.”

 

Phil is staring at him as though he’s a different person, which is kind of a thrill, if Dan’s honest. “Well, I guess if you think you can get him to come…”

 

“He'll come.” Dan says with confidence, already planning out his pleading invitation to the guy. “I’ll invite Louise too, she was fun at Playlist. You liked her, right? And I'll invite Bry and Wirrow, obviously. And all your Uni friends. And Chris and PJ…”

 

“Dan.” Phil says in a low voice, grounding Dan at once. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

Dan stares back into his eyes, softening at his best friend’s sweet, vulnerable expression. How long has it been since someone has offered to do something like this for him? Maybe years. Dan is so self-involved. He should be showering Phil with attention every day, even platonically. 

 

Millions of people would kill to be in Dan’s shoes after all, right beside Phil, even for just one day.

 

“I know.” Dan tells him with a soft smile. “I want to.”

 

* * *

 

 

Planning a party for Phil turns out to be the most therapeutic thing Dan has yet discovered to distract himself from all the sadness. Every time he finds himself slipping back into that dark dungeon in his mind where he overthinks and worries about everything, he just pulls out his phone or his laptop and looks up cake shops, or orders decorations, or adds more people to the invite list on the Facebook event he’s made.

 

So far, around twenty people have said yes, which is a good sign. Martyn and Cornelia regrettably said they can’t make it, but Dan knows Phil’s seeing them before that anyway along with his parents. Dan suppresses his FOMO-monster, this time. Phil can go and have his family birthday on his own. He's spending his actual birthday here anyway. Besides, the Lesters will probably be relieved that Phil turns up without his weird, socially awkward bestie for once.

 

On Christmas day, Dan finds himself seated at the dinner table with his family, choking down whiskey his Dad pours for him and shovelling roast potatoes into his mouth with inhuman speed.

 

"How're things going with the video career, Dan?" His Granddad asks him politely, sounding a touch afraid of the answer.

 

Dan smiles around a mouthful of potato, wondering how he can respond in a way that won't sound too pretentious or too technical for his elderly grandfather to understand.  

 

"Um, good." Dan replies eventually. "As long as I make two to three videos every few months I can keep food in the fridge, so I'm managing so far." 

 

"Is it a viable career, though Dan?" His Dad asks him, sounding more concerned than anything. "These fads never last more than a few years in reality. They're popular for a while, and then something takes its place. What happens when someone invents a better website than Youtube?"

 

Dan's jaw twitches, but he tries to stay calm and patient. "I don't think it will. Youtube is owned by Google, and is the biggest video sharing website in the world. I don't think it's going anywhere just yet." Dan says as politely as he can, hating that he has to constantly explain his life choices to every baby boomer in the world, particularly his parents.

 

He glances across at his Grandma, his favourite person at this table by far. She sends him a mischievous wink, smiling like they're sharing a joke. Dan smiles back, grateful for her, as always. 

 

"Well, all I'm saying is, if it were to fall through, you'd have nothing to fall back on." His Dad continues, methodically carving up the turkey on his plate into bitesize pieces. Dan watches him, a sickly sensation beginning to take root in his stomach. "I'm sure it's a lot of glamour and fun, and you're getting by for now, Dan, but perhaps you should look at getting back into education while you're still young- or ask about management positions-"

 

"Come on now, darling, let's not talk about all that." Dan's mum interjects, sending Dan a look of motherly concern. "It's Christmas! We can probe Dan later." 

 

Dan feels queasy at the thought of 'later', though he does send his Mum a grateful smile. Always the neutral one. The bomb diffuser of the family. It can be annoying, at times, that she never picks a side, never gets involved in family arguments, but she means well. She just likes everyone to act like they're fine even if they aren't. It wasn't so great when Dan was struggling with his identity in secondary school, holed up in his room crying to The Black Parade album, but now Dan is more than happy to get on board with the pretence. 

 

He can act like everything's fine better than anyone else he knows, at this point. 

 

"I'm not trying to be unreasonable, I'm just concerned for his future in this very unpredictable, most likely temporary field-" Dan's father begins to say, and at that point, Dan decides to try and put an end to it. 

 

"Actually, Dad," Dan pipes up, still smiling despite the fact his nails are digging crescents into his palm. "I'm doing really well for myself. I'm a popular presenter, entertainer and broadcaster with millions of followers. We've got the highest ratings ever recorded for the Radio 1 request show, we've begun looking into writing our own book and possibly even making a film or stage show. We've hosted the BRIT Awards, and the Teen Choice Awards, plus we've honorary guests at conventions every year. Our fans are extremely dedicated and loyal, and most of the time we can't walk through central London without getting mobbed. I don't see any reason to be worried about the future just yet."

 

Adrian rolls his eyes across the table, pushing his plate away. He hasn't spoken for most of dinner, but he's going through his sulky teenage phase, so Dan ignores him.  

 

A hush falls around the dinner table following Dan's outburst, interrupted only by the scraping of cutlery against plates and people chewing. 

 

"Well," Dan's father says, his face a little pinker than it was a moment ago, "I suppose we'll see, won't we?"

 

"We're very proud of you, Dan." His mum says, smiling at him from the next chair over. Dan smiles back, gratefully. "And, um," Dan's mum starts to say in a timid voice, turning back to her plate, cheeks unmistakably pink. "H-how is Phil?"

 

Dan's eyes widen, and he tries to work out what could have prompted that question out of nowhere. As he replays the little speech he'd just given in his head, he realises quickly that his use of pronoun had changed somewhere during the course of it from 'I' to 'we'.

 

His cheeks burn, and he shuts his eyes for a moment, berating himself. He really, really doesn't want to discuss Phil with his family. He tries to think of something noncommittal to reply with, something that will brush the question away without prompting more. 

 

"He's great." Dan lies with a casual shrug. He pushes another large potato into his mouth, effectively ending the conversation.

 

"Are you gonna tell them the other bit?" Adrian asks suddenly, his voice quietly furious as he glares across the table at Dan.

 

Dan swallows his mouthful with moderate difficulty, afraid of what his brother means. "What?"

 

"I said, are you gonna tell them the other bit about your super successful life?" Adrian asks again, bewildering everyone at the table, including Dan.

 

"I don't know what you're-" Dan tries to say, but Adrian scoffs at him, throwing his cutlery down onto his unfinished plate with a clang.

 

"Shall I, then?" Adrian asks, his voice raising. Dan can feel his mum tense beside him, evidently uncomfortable about another family drama. "You all think Dan's a megastar because he makes stupid unfunny videos about his boring life? Wrong. Dan's fans are just gross twelve year old girls who only like him 'cause they think him and Phil are gay together!" 

 

Dan's face pales, and he swears he feels his heart skip. He looks around the table, absorbing each of his elder family members' faces in turn, all of them shocked or horrified. His Mum has turned a frightening shade of beetroot, and won't look him in the eye. 

 

"W-we're not." Dan practically whispers, his heart roaring in his ears.

 

Why is this happening? He and Adrian haven't even spoken in half a year. Besides, it's not true. Dan might have a crisis over his identity fairly regularly and hate himself pretty much daily, but he knows that not all of his million subscribers are the crazy 'phangirls'. Sure, maybe the majority of them are, but... Dan swallows something acidic; he's sure he can feel the roast dinner he just ate climbing back up his oesophagus.

 

"It's... just a rumour." Dan hears himself say over the blood roaring in his ears. _Except that it's not._  "It doesn't matter anyway." 

 

_Except that it's ruining mine and Phil's lives._

 

"Doesn't matter?" Adrian repeats, incredulous. Oh God, this isn't over yet. "What about when your sick 'fans' message me on Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook and every other goddamn site asking if you take it up the ass?! Does it matter then!?"

 

Dan's jaw drops, and he can hear his Dad choke on something. His Granddad is focused resolutely on his dinner, eyes down. His Grandma seems to be giggling into her glass of wine, but Dan is trying very hard to ignore that.

 

He doesn't even want to know his Mum's reaction. 

 

"Adrian, I didn't know..." Dan mumbles, barely coherent at this point.

 

"Don't apologise to me." Adrian interrupts, glaring. "I just want it to stop. I want my life back. I want to be able to have a Facebook without ten thousand crazy girls messaging me asking if I'm jealous of you. Or worse, asking if I've ever seen you and Phil snogging each other." 

 

Dan doesn't know what to say. He feels blindsided by this. Adrian has grumbled a couple of times that some of Dan's fans seek him out online and pester him, but he never knew it was this bad. He feels nauseous at the idea of someone asking his own brother this kind of stuff. It's his own fault, too. The fans wouldn't be so obsessed with the idea of 'phan' if it truly didn't exist. 

 

"I'll tell them to stop." Dan assures Adrian, shaking his head in silent apology. "I swear, I-"

 

"Whatever." Adrian bites out, scraping his chair back and standing up. "Maybe I'll just tell them all you are fucking him. It might be true, after all. It's not like you ever date any girls." 

 

With these last words hanging in the air, Adrian storms out of the room. The people left round the dinner table sit in silence, listening to Adrian stomping up the stairs. 

 

Dan waits for as long as he can stand it, then excuses himself. He goes straight up to his old room, hesitating outside Adrian's door. He doesn't knock. Adrian evidently doesn't want to hear anything Dan has to say, and honestly Dan can't blame him. 

 

He sits down on the bed, staring down at his shaking hands. Weirdly, there's only one person he wants to talk to right now, even if that person is just as much a cause of his problems as a resolution. He reaches into his bag and pulls out his laptop. He needs to Skype Phil. 

 

* * *

 

“What’d you get for Christmas, then?” Dan asks, relaxing into a comfy position on the bed. 

 

“Mum and Dad bought me Zelda for DS, so…” Phil answers, chuckling.

 

“Right, so you’ll be unavailable for the next few weeks, gotcha.” Dan jokes, laughing along with him.

 

“What’d you get?” Phil asks, sipping something out of the Lego mug Dan bought him.

 

Dan’s heart aches at the thought that Phil brought it along with him to Manchester. To anyone else, that would seem absurd. The Lesters definitely have their own perfectly decent mugs.

 

Phil just wanted this one with him, specifically.

 

“Um, God, I can’t remember.” Dan laughs. His brain is still a little fuzzy from the various spirits and wines his family have poured into his glass over the course of the day. He yawns, smiling. “It's been a long day. I’ll show you when we get home. Too sleepy right now.”

 

As if to prove his point, Dan closes his eyes and rests his head back on the headboard behind him. It’s hard and uncomfortable compared to his padded one at home. He frowns, trying to get comfy.

 

“You’re cute.” Phil says with a slur, indicating that he’s probably been drinking a bit too.

 

Dan’s eyes peel open and he smiles at Phil. The older boy looks a lot like he’s trying to inhale the cute comment he just let slip, but in all honesty, Dan doesn’t mind.

 

“Incorrect. I'm gross. And sleepy.” Dan replies with a smile, letting his eyes fall shut again. "Need to talk to you 'bout something..." 

 

He trails off, feeling his limbs grow heavy. After a few moments, Dan realises Phil hasn’t responded, so he reluctantly opens his eyes. The Skype window is blank and silent. Phil’s profile picture stares at him, static and unmoving.

 

_Phil Lester has ended the call._

Confused, and more tired than ever, Dan glances at his phone, noticing with surprise that an hour has somehow slipped through his fingers. He must have fallen asleep.

 

There’s a text from Phil, and Dan swipes it open, impatiently.

 

**From: Phil Lester**

**To: Dan Howell**

**23:03pm**

Guess you were sleepier than u let on lol.  
I tried waking you up with bird noises but  
you were out cold. Hope you had pterodactyl  
dreams. See you in a few days x

 

Dan stares at the message for a long time before locking his screen and turning out the light to go to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The morning of Phil’s birthday is ridiculously cold. Dan sets his alarm for 8am, because he knows he has a fuckton to do, but the moment his brain swims into consciousness and registers the warmth of his covers cocoon in comparison to the frigid air outside of it, getting up seems ludicrous.

 

He shuts his eyes again, but the insistence of his anxious thoughts beat away any chance of returning to dreamville. So he stares up at the ceiling, trying to summon the strength to leave his bed.

 

_You can switch on the heating if you get up. You can even put on a jumper. Or light the fire. It’ll be warm in no time._

He thinks of all the things he needs to do this morning and groans. A bag of birthday decorations lies at the foot of his bed, patiently waiting to be plastered all over the house. Phil’s carefully wrapped present is beside this bag, along with a card that he spent far too long deliberating over the message for at 1am last night.

 

His aching limbs and half-shut eyelids begrudge him for this last one.

 

He tells himself he’s getting up in one minute. This becomes two minutes. Then he rounds it up to five. Annoyed at himself, he tries to think of bribes for his selfish brain. What’s a tempting enough offer to make him leave this delicious warmth right now?

 

Coffee? Breakfast?

 

A thought dawns on him in a blinding, spectacular ray of light.

 

He throws the covers off himself at once, smiling as the freezing air attacks him from all sides. Cold is just irrelevant now.

 

He almost trips over the party decorations on his way to the door of his room, but he manages it eventually, and is across the hall in two seconds flat. He’s all but silent as he pushes open Phil’s bedroom door, so intent on not waking him that he moves extra slowly, despite how much it kills him to do so.

 

With the same painstaking level of quiet, Dan creeps across Phil’s room towards his bed, where he can just about see a few messy tufts of jet black hair poking out of the covers. Phil tends to completely engulf himself in blankets during the night. Dan remembers getting irritated with this as their relationship wore on; either he’d wake up suffocating in Phil’s embrace in the midst of a thick duvet burrito, or he’d be freezing, on the other side of the bed with no covers at all.

 

There was no in between.

 

It seemed like such an issue at the time, Dan recalls, smiling to himself as he remembers. Now it’s just a fond memory.

 

Dan climbs onto the bed slowly, finding an edge in the blanket burrito and lifting it so that he can slide underneath. Phil still hasn’t woken up, which is pretty funny, so Dan just continues. He ducks underneath the covers entirely, relishing the warmth that Phil’s body heat has created.

 

Under here, it’s difficult to see much, but Dan can just about make out the form of Phil’s body beneath the covers. He’s shirtless, Dan notices with a raised eyebrow. It’s not completely unheard of for Phil to sleep without one, but considering how cold it is, Dan does wonder slightly at the reason.

 

With some hesitance – he doesn’t want to frighten the life out of Phil – Dan places his hand on Phil’s hip, expecting him to awaken at the touch. Phil stirs a little, probably due to the icy coldness of Dan’s hand, but doesn’t wake.

 

Dan shrugs, and decides that he might as well just go for it. It’s technically Phil’s birthday after all, even if it is a tad earlier than their usual trysts occur. Grinning to himself at how excellent this birthday wake up is going to be, Dan huffs some air on his hands to warm them, then slides one across the front of Phil’s pyjama pants, pressing firmly.

 

It doesn’t take very long to coax Phil into hardness; Dan presses his mouth gently against the skin just above Phil’s waistband as he does it, genuinely shocked that the guy hasn’t woken up yet.

 

At this point, Dan is mildly concerned that Phil will just sleep through the whole thing unless Dan manages to stir him, so he promptly gives up the teasing and slips his hand into Phil’s pants. The moment Dan’s still-cold fingers wrap around Phil’s erection, Phil wakes with a gasp, throwing the covers off himself.

 

Dan glances up at his bewildered, half-asleep, half-blissed out expression, smirking.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Dan?”

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

Before Phil can reply, Dan pulls Phil’s dick out of his pants into the chilly air, and wraps his mouth around it before it can feel the cold.

 

“Unngh!” Phil cries out, one hand reaching out to grip Dan’s shoulder. “Fuck, Dan…”

 

Dan doesn’t respond apart from beginning to move his mouth over Phil’s dick, head bobbing up and down with determination. Phil’s surprise over the situation seems to have added to his overall excitement, and Dan can feel him twitching as he works his tongue over the underside.

 

“Ah, fff-” Phil says, arching his back a little off the mattress.

 

Dan’s mouth is stretched wide with how much he’s taking, as ever, but it doesn’t feel as challenging as it once might have. He kind of likes how he has to work to take all of Phil in, he’s learning as he hums around Phil, sucking hard.

 

Phil’s flavour bursts across his tastebuds, familiar and sort of nostalgic, too. He doesn’t taste like anyone else, Dan is sure. The only other person he’s been with since Phil is Cat though, and she sure didn’t taste the same.

 

Dan pulls off Phil for a moment, assessing the situation in hand. Phil is very close to coming, Dan can tell, so Dan lifts his hand off the base of his erection, sliding it further underneath him, trailing soft fingers across his balls as he leans back in to kiss the tip.

 

He lets his tongue flick softly, teasingly, over the length of him, and grins as Phil curses him for it. Precum bubbles out of Phil’s cock in syrupy bursts, and Dan laps it up all too eagerly.

 

“Dan, fuck, please…” Phil begs, pushing fingers into Dan’s hair and trying to guide him back into position.

 

Dan chuckles, a little thrill running through him as Phil manhandles him like this. He’s not a fucking _sub_ , he sticks by that, but if Phil’s last birthday taught him anything about his own sexuality, it’s that he likes a bit of roughness. Maybe only from Phil, though. He can’t imagine liking it with anyone else.

 

The safety word that he scribbled onto that damn sticky note flashes into his brain without warning, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes.

 

“Sorry.” He tells Phil, trying to focus, but Phil is laughing too.

 

“Are you remembering the safe word?” Phil asks, and Dan stares up at him in surprise.

 

“How the fuck did you know that?”

 

“I’m psychic, remember?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, one hand wrapping around the base again as his tongue swirls around the tip of Phil’s flushed cock. Phil’s always insisting that he’s got psychic genes off his Grandma or some bollocks-

 

“ _Dan_!” Phil yelps, making Dan moan slightly as his grip tightens in his hair.

 

Oh right, Dan remembers, focusing again. He’s in the middle of something.

 

He sinks back down on Phil’s cock without warning, letting the older man slide straight into his mouth until he’s nudging the back of his throat. Phil moans and curses loudly, so Dan gives it all he’s got, tightening his lips around Phil and sucking loudly. His head moves over Phil at a frantic pace, and it takes just seconds before Phil is shouting as his release fills Dan’s mouth.

 

Dan drinks it all down, obviously. He only pulls off once Phil has stopped making any noise past his own heavy breathing.

 

Then, he crawls up beside Phil, smiling happily. He kisses Phil on the nose, delighted that his own wake up call was such a success.

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

“It’s a bit early.” Phil jokes, smiling back at him, and Dan pokes him in the tummy.

 

“Won’t bother next time.”

 

Phil grabs hold of him then, pulling them flush against each other. Dan shuts his eyes, expecting Phil to kiss him, but he doesn’t. When Dan opens them again, Phil is staring at him, his eyes so filled with affection that Dan doesn’t dare look away.

 

“Thank you for my present, Dan.” Phil tells him seriously, and Dan snorts.

 

“You think that was your present?” Dan shakes his head, clucking. “You just wait. The day has only just begun.”

 

Then Phil does kiss him, softly, happily, smiling against Dan’s lips. Phil’s hands wander, sliding down Dan’s back, then over his bum and his hips until they’re fiddling with the waistband of Dan’s pyjama trousers.

 

Dan grabs hold of Phil’s wrists quickly, realising what’s happening. “Uh uh, Philly. No time for that now.”

 

Phil stares at him in confusion. “Are you… refusing a return blowjob?”

 

“Sad as it is, yes.” Dan confirms, and Phil looks at him like he’s mad. “There’s too much to _do_ , Phil.”

 

Phil gropes about behind him until he finds his phone on the table. He brings it to his face blearily. “It’s 8:30.”

 

“Exactly.” Dan says, giving Phil a last efficient peck on the lips before moving away from him. He stands and stretches, turning to Phil with a smile. “You can stay in bed for longer if you want. I’ll just be doing birthday errands.”

 

“But…” Phil tries to protest.

 

“Shh.” Dan says softly, pulling the covers back over him so he’s safely cocooned in warmth once more. “Best birthday ever, Phil. Right?”

 

Phil doesn’t reply, so Dan nods, agreeing with himself, and heads out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Two and a half hours later, Phil pads into the kitchen, still shirtless. He ducks his head when he sees Dan, seeming a little shy all of a sudden. Dan laughs at him, then turns back to the stove.

 

“That smells amazing, oh my God.” Phil groans in a croaky voice, walking over to peer over Dan’s shoulder.

 

Dan tuts and half-heartedly pushes him away. “Go sit in the living room, I’m preparing an extravagant birthday breakfast.”

 

Phil stares at him in wonder, eyes shining brightly. “Pancakes?”

 

Dan smiles. “Obviously.”

 

“Can I have-”

 

“One drenched in maple syrup and one with nutella and peanut butter.” Dan finishes for Phil, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

 

Phil just blinks at him, surprised.

 

“To start with, anyway.” Dan adds on quickly, winking.

 

“We spend too much time together.” Phil says, laughing as Dan flaps his hand at him again; he exits the room obediently.

 

“Not in my opinion.” Dan mumbles in response, flipping the pancake with a spatula.

 

He’s not going to attempt any daring frying pan flips today. This breakfast needs to be perfect, and for that all of the pancakes need to be safely on plates rather than stuck to the kitchen ceiling.

 

* * *

 

“Dan, you really didn’t have to do all this.” Phil says, sounding bashful around his mouthful of syrupy pancake.

 

Dan chews on his own classic lemon-and-sugar topped pancake thoughtfully, his eyes flicking about the living room, surveying his own work. It looks pretty good in here, he doesn’t mind admitting.

 

It’s taken him practically all morning whilst Phil slept on in a post-orgasm haze, but Dan has cleared the clutter, moved their breakable objects, set up the speakers, blown up more balloons than he can count, strung up fairy lights and even hung a cheesy, multi-coloured ‘Happy Birthday’ banner over the fireplace.

 

Then, of course, he’s cooked pancakes, made coffee, nipped to the shop to get one of those cartons of blueberry smoothie Phil likes, and – most importantly – given Phil a special wake-up birthday blowjob.

 

Dan shrugs like it’s nothing, swallowing a tasty mouthful. “It was nothing. You know my plan, anyway.”

 

“The ‘best birthday ever’ plan?” Phil asks, swiping his finger through a chocolatey-syrupy-peanutty glob on his plate and depositing it into his mouth.

 

Dan watches him do this, forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. He regains his senses after a few seconds, and shrugs away the lust addling his mind. He won’t pretend that refusing Phil’s offer to return the favour earlier this morning was a difficult one. In fact, he hasn’t really been able to get Phil’s moans of appreciation out of his mind since then. To stifle the thoughts, Dan shoves more pancake into his mouth.

 

Later, he tells himself sternly. 

 

“Mmhmm.” Dan agrees vaguely, barely remembering what he’s nodding along to. He swallows his mouthful, then puts his plate on the sofa arm for the time being. “Hey, open your present!”

 

Dan reaches for the shiny wrapped gift he’d brought into the lounge earlier, and places it on Phil’s lap. Phil puts his plate to one side, eyeing up the bulky, soft package in awe.

 

“Dan… you shouldn’t- I mean, we’ve always said birthday presents-” Phil starts to say, but Dan is not about to listen to any more protestations.

 

“Just shut up and open it, you spork.”

 

Phil chews his lip for a moment, then reaches for a sellotaped edge, moving with caution.

 

“Wait!” Dan cries, halting him. He reaches down by his feet, grabbing the envelope that slipped off the top. “Card first.”

 

The idea of opening a birthday card seems far less daunting to Phil for some reason, and Phil’s shoulders release some tension as he takes the bright green envelope from Dan.

 

“Thought you could keep the envelope.” Dan jokes, even though his heart is picking up speed with the increased velocity of a racecar. “For your collection, y’know.”

 

Phil laughs, gazing into Dan’s eyes for a minute, looking a little taken aback. Dan knows why. Phil’s only mentioned his weird penchance for collecting green envelopes as a child once or twice. He mentioned it in a video once, around a year ago, but he's never brought it up since. It’s a little strange that Dan even remembers. But Dan doesn’t tend to forget much about Phil, for some reason.

 

None of this is acknowledged out loud, as is standard between the two of them, Dan is starting to realise. Phil just reaches for his glasses, slides them on, and then carefully unseals the flap with one finger.

 

He pulls out the plainish blue card. Dan waits with baited breath for his reaction; there’s a small image of the Lumpy Space Princess in the centre, wearing a party hat. She’s frowning, as usual, and in a speech bubble above her head, she says ‘Like, Happy Birthday or whatever’.

 

Dan’s pretty pleased with it. Phil laughs, which relaxes Dan a little, though obviously he’s far more nervous about Phil’s reaction to the actual content of the card. He barely even remembers what he wrote now. He just knows it took until 1am to decide upon the right wording. Once he’d written it, he’d sealed it before he could change his mind, and gone to sleep.

 

Fuck.

 

He knows he has a tendency to be a little emotional in writing. There’s probably a bad joke in there too.

 

Dan’s heart pounds fast. Phil opens the card.

 

He’s totally silent as he reads, and it does nothing to help Dan’s anxiety. Dan fidgets, watching Phil closely. His eyes seem to be going over and over the same paragraph, reading and re-reading. Dan wishes he could remember what’s written there, but he can only think of patchy little parts of what he thought he might write.

 

Just when it’s about to become unbearable, Phil looks up from the card, meeting Dan’s eyes. Phil’s own eyes are behind two tiny frames of glass, but Dan can tell they’re glistening a little. Phil smiles at him, very small and sweet.

 

“Thanks, Dan.” Phil says softly, and Dan just smiles back, wishing again that he could remember what Phil had just read so that he could understand the emotion behind Phil’s words.

 

He really needs to stop staying up so late. He rubs his eyes instinctively, trying to wipe away the tiredness. 

 

Phil places the card on the sofa arm then, putting his glasses on top. Dan frowns, and resolves to sneak a look at it later on.

 

Phil tears into his present with wild abandon, gleeful now, and in moments he’s revealed the soft, bright yellow fabric underneath the pretty paper Dan chose for him. 

 

“Wow!” Phil exclaims, chuckling as he pulls the garment out of the wrapping. “It’s so bright- oh my God!”

 

He holds it up in front of him, seeing the design on the front at last. Dan grins as Phil drops it into his lap to stare at Dan. “Like it?”

 

“You got me a Jake hoodie!” Phil cries, sounding elated.

 

Dan laughs, loving the sound of his best friend’s excited little-kid voice. “Thought I should stick with a theme. You have been kind of binge watching Adventure Time lately, so…”

 

Phil seems to be barely listening to him, as he’s already half-inside the hoodie, one arm through, his head emerging out of the top in seconds.

 

“It fits!” Phil cries, still full of childlike joy.

 

Dan smiles; he looks adorable, just as Dan thought he would when he saw it online.

 

“Phew.” Dan says, as though he didn't know Phil's exact size anyway. 

 

“I love it, thank you!” Phil tells Dan, beaming, and before Dan knows it, Phil is leaning across the sofa to wrap his sunshine-yellow arms around him in a hug. “I’m never taking it off.”

 

“You might change your mind about that later.” Dan purrs into Phil’s ear, because he’s still horny as fuck from earlier.

 

He berates himself slightly for dirtying this sweet moment, but he honestly couldn't have stopped himself if he tried. Phil is warm and bright and gorgeous this morning, he's swaddled in the hoodie Dan bought just for him, and behind the lemon and sugar, Dan can still almost taste him.  

 

Phil sucks in a tiny breath at Dan's words, but laughs shakily, leaning away. “So, what time does the party start?”

 

“Seven.” Dan replies with a smile. He reaches towards Phil without thinking, brushing his fringe into position. “You look so cute in that. Let me take a picture of you.”

 

Phil blushes but doesn’t object, and Dan manhandles him into position on the edge of the sofa so that he can get the banner in the background. Phil beams and spreads his arms wide for the photo, and Dan snaps it quickly, capturing the moment forever.

 

“Adorable.” Dan confirms, showing Phil at once.

 

Phil chuckles at it. “Send it to me, I’ll post it on Instagram.”

 

Dan nods, quickly texting the picture to Phil. “Right, I’m gonna go have a shower. You should call your Mum and Dad.”

 

“Oh, good idea.” Phil agrees, sounding a little surprised by Dan’s organisational skills. “Okay.”

 

Dan stands up to head for the bathroom, but hesitates, looking at Phil. He’s opened Instagram on his phone and is choosing the perfect filter for the photo Dan just took.

 

Dan watches him fondly, noting the sweet little crease form between his eyes. He doesn’t know what it is exactly that prompts him, but he leans down and gently tilts Phil’s chin up with one hand. Phil’s eyes go wide and round, his phone falling into his lap.

 

Dan presses his lips to Phil’s just briefly, a chaste kiss. Then, as quickly as it happened, Dan leans away again and exits the room.

 

* * *

 

All Dan can think about are mirror balls. When he’d first begun planning this party, he’d become a little obsessed. He’d searched for one for ages in all the local charity shops. He’d looked online and deliberated ordering one, or maybe even a few, in varying sizes. Inevitably, his annoyingly logical brain had talked him out of it. What would they do with these mirror balls once the party was over? How would they store them when their cupboards are already stuffed with crap?

 

Then it was too late.

 

Now, Dan is stood at the edge of his own living room, by the fireplace, watching Phil in the centre, his bright smile reflecting onto everyone’s faces. He shines and sparkles under the gaze of a hundred fairy lights. Their friends hang off his every word.

 

Dan can’t believe he had ever considered buying a mirror ball. Phil is the brightest, shiniest thing in this room by far, despite all Dan’s decorative efforts.

 

He sips his drink, smiling to himself as Phil does a pretty terrible impression of what seems to be a flamingo for an anecdote he’s telling.

 

“Heard him tell this one before?”

 

Dan starts slightly, turning to the person beside him. He’d thought he’d separated himself from the crowd for the moment.

 

He’s pleasantly surprised to find Louise standing beside him, looking gorgeous and glamorous as usual in a ruffled shirt and pleated pink skirt, but with that spark of mischief in her eye that Dan adores.

 

He smiles at her, nodding. “How’d you guess?”

 

“Not that hard.” Louise laughs. “I doubt there are many stories you two could tell that the other one couldn’t tell just as accurately.”

 

Dan lifts his eyebrows and sips his drink, nodding. She’s probably right. They both listen to Phil’s vibrant story-telling for a minute, chuckling.

 

“He’s such an unusual human.” Louise muses, wonderstruck. “You’re a lucky guy, Dan.”

 

This makes Dan freeze up, and his smile drops away. He can feel his defences rearing up, ready to protest any and all romantic accusations Louise is about to throw at him.

 

She notices, though, laughing at his response. “I don’t mean like that, sorry. I just meant ‘cause you get to hear all this stuff so regularly.”

 

Dan watches her, assessing. He tries to relax his shoulders, but finds it difficult for some reason. “Well… I mean, we don’t spend every second together.”

 

“No, no, of course not.” Louise agrees in a rush. “Sorry, Dan, I didn’t mean Phil isn’t just as lucky to have you as a friend. Or that, y’know, you’re joined at the hip- fuck, sorry, I have a terrible tendency to put my foot in every situation.”

 

Dan can’t help but laugh as she gets visibly more and more flustered. “Hey, it’s cool, I know the feeling.”

 

Louise looks at him gratefully, but takes a large gulp of her drink to calm herself. “You have to admit, though…” She says, clearly choosing her words carefully now. “He’s one of a kind. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him.”

 

Dan hesitates before replying to her, worried about how any agreement on his part might sound. But what does it matter, really? Louise can’t possibly have any knowledge of Dan and Phil’s romantic history. And Dan is so careful, always, about keeping a modest distance between he and Phil at any public event that there’s virtually no chance of anyone ever suspecting. Aside from the fans, obviously, but they only speculate because they have access to the horrifying network of secrets lying in Dan’s online history.

 

Basically though, it’s not going to cause a catastrophe if Dan just says yes to Louise, just this once. There’s nobody else here, and it’s just a simple acknowledgement that Phil is special to him. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

 

“No, me neither.” Dan forces out after a while, and Louise glances at him. “I guess that’s why I’ve stuck around so long.”

 

“Forced friendship.” Louise jokes, and Dan laughs, letting out the breath he’d been holding. It occurs to him briefly that Louise isn't far off the mark there. 

 

That wasn’t so hard, he thinks, turning back to his drink. The world didn’t end. Louise knows that he cares about Phil, and everything just continued as normal. She doesn’t think of him any differently.

 

Phil finishes telling his story then, and Dan knows it’s time to intervene. He needs to find Adam, who actually baked Phil a cake and brought it along tonight after Dan had fretted at him down the phone about his own terrible baking skills. Bless that Irishman, honestly. 

 

"Right, I've got party stuff to do." Dan tells Louise with a smile. She watches him curiously as he edges back into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

Bryony is talking at him, but Dan can’t concentrate on her words. She’s excessively animated about something or other, her hands are waving about wildly and her giggles keep interrupting her speech.

 

Dan just grits his teeth and grins, nodding like he’s following along closely. Really, however, every inch of his focus is honed in on the fridge door his back is pressed against, and more specifically, what is stuck to that fridge door.

 

He doesn’t know why neither he nor Phil thought to hide the stupid fucking sticky-note before everyone arrived. They’re usually pretty careful about it, after all. The first thing they think of, typically, when someone is coming round to the flat, is to take down the extremely incriminating Birthday Sex Rules list and tuck it away in a drawer out of sight until that person is gone.

 

Somehow, tonight, this seems to have slipped both of their minds. Dan walked in to the kitchen just a few minutes ago to grab a beer out of the fridge for Adam, and he saw it stuck there, bold as ever, for all the world to see.

 

He stared at the Pokémon-decorated nightmare for a moment, in disbelief, and then, before he could rip it down, Bryony accosted him in here, backing him up against the fridge and talking a mile a minute. Here he’s been ever since, spine glued to the fridge so that she doesn’t see the damn thing. He prays that she’ll tire of his monosyllabic answers and half-hearted chuckles and move away to another, better conversation, but she doesn’t.

 

“Daaan.” She wheedles, jabbing at his shoulder. “Are you drunk?”

 

“What?” Dan asks, struggling to catch up. “N-no.”

 

That’s not exctly true, either. His tipsiness isn’t helping the situation at hand.

 

“Liar!” Bryony accuses, grinning. “Come on, let’s go lock ourselves in the bathroom and gossip about everyone like we used to at parties.”

 

She grabs his arm, tugging hard, and Dan resists her strength with everything he’s got. He cannot let that post-it note be seen by anyone at this party, if it hasn’t already.

 

He blood runs cold at the very idea.

 

“Dan!” Bryony shouts at him, looking impatient. “Come on! I have secrets to share!”

 

“I can’t.” Dan says helplessly, floundering about for some kind of excuse.

 

At that moment, Phil wanders in, cheeks rouged from the alcohol and merriment. Dan could kiss him. In fact, he will later.

 

“Hey!” Phil says cheerfully, glancing between Bryony and Dan. “What are you guys up to?”

 

“Bryony’s trying to kidnap me.” Dan informs Phil, trying to send him a warning look.

 

Phil just laughs, and Bryony drops Dan’s arm in a huff. “He’s refusing to come and gossip with me.”

 

Phil tuts at Dan, shaking his head. “Daniel. You have a duty to attend to.”

 

“I’ve got several _duties_ to attend to.” Dan says through gritted teeth, trying to discreetly incline his head towards the fridge behind him. Phil just looks at him blankly.

 

Dan sighs in exasperation.

 

“Your only duty tonight was to throw an awesome party for Phil.” Bryony states, grabbing hold of Dan’s hand. He squirms in her hold, looking about desperately for something that could distract her. “Congratulations, you’ve managed that. Right, Phil?”

 

“Uhh, yeah…” Phil says unsurely, seeming to have sensed something is wrong with Dan now. “Thank you.”

 

Dan could throttle him. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Great!” Bryony says happily. “So now you’re relieved of your duties. Time for gossip.”

 

She grins mischievously, and before Dan can prepare, she yanks him towards the door of the kitchen. Dan struggles feebly, but his noodle-like arm is useless against Bryony’s fearsome strength. In desperation, he turns back to Phil, sending him one fleeting glance, mouthing ‘help’. He jabs a finger towards the fridge without Bryony noticing. Phil just cocks his head like a damn Shiba Inu-

 

And then it hits Dan. He grabs hold of the doorframe, holding on for dear life as Bryony attempts to pull him.

 

“Doge!” He practically shouts, watching the fear strike his best friend at the sound of their safeword. 

 

Phil visibly tenses, stepping towards Dan in alarm. With his final moments before being forcibly removed from the scene, Dan jabs another finger at the fridge door, and this time, thank heavens, Phil understands. He swirls round on the spot, looking at the fridge at last, and Dan watches in relief as his best friend gasps, seeing the post-it note. He tears it down in one quick movement, stuffing it into his back pocket.

 

Dan almost melts in relief, sending Phil a silent telepathic message of thanks as he's dragged away from the kitchen. He promises to every deity he can think of that he'll show Phil how grateful he is later on. 

 

Fuck, that was close. 

 

“You're such a meme freak, Dan. Why the fuck did you just shout  _doge_?” Bryony mutters as she pulls him towards the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Dan is in the bathtub with PJ. The door closes behind Bryony as she exits the bathroom to get another drink, and then it’s just Dan and PJ, their legs dangling over the edge of the bath as their backs curve uncomfortably in the middle of it. Neither one of them is remotely comfortable here, but it doesn't seem to occur to them to leave.

 

“What were we t’lking about?” Dan asks, stumbling over his words a little.

 

He’s definitely drunk now, he thinks, watching the faucet to his left float around itself in a perfect circle again and again.

 

PJ doesn’t answer at first, just sipping a Desperado in peaceful silence. Dan hates silences though, and his drunk self is just not going to sit idly by while one swallows him whole.

 

“Something about ping pong balls?” Dan asks, trying to remember. “What the fuck was Bryony talking about ping pong balls for-”

 

“Dan.” PJ interrupts, his voice far more serious than it has been for the entire time they’ve been in the tub. Dan would guess this has been somewhere between twenty minutes and two hours.

 

He turns to PJ, blearily. “Mmhmm?”

 

PJ plays with the label on his bottle, his heavy brow creased, clearly working out how to phrase something. Dan tries to sit up a little straighter, sensing PJ is down for a DMC, but he immediately slides back into his curled over position because – oh, right – he’s in a bathtub.

 

“Phil’s a great guy, isn’t he?” PJ asks, and though it sounds rhetorical, PJ turns to him for an answer.

 

Not knowing how else to respond to this mad question, Dan just nods. “Yeah. Course.”

 

 _Duh_ , his brain adds on. That's why Phil is Dan's best friend.  

 

PJ smiles, but it’s small and strained. What on earth is happening? Is he drunkenly missing something here? 

 

“Yeah, he is.” PJ agrees, nodding. “Really decent guy. Funny and loyal and caring. He deserves to be happy. Don’t you think?”

 

In Dan's altered state of mind, it sounds a lot like PJ might be crushing on Phil himself.

 

“What about Sophie?!” Dan blurts, mouth running ahead of his brain.

 

PJ looks at him, confused. “Um. Well, obviously I think she’s great too. But I don’t wanna talk about her right now.”

 

“Oh,” says Dan, not really following. “Okay.”

 

“Do you…” PJ shifts a little, crossing and uncrossing his ankles over the lip of the tub. Dan watches in awe; PJ’s socks are neon and stripey. “Do you think Phil’s happy, Dan?”

 

Dan glances across at PJ, slightly taken aback by the question. Why would PJ ask him that? What is he getting at? Dan’s heart starts to beat a little harder.

 

“Um, yeah.” He lies. Dan knows Phil isn’t happy. Heck, neither of them have been happy for a long time. The point is, nobody _else_ is supposed to know. “I mean, he seems pretty happy tonight, right?”

 

PJ nods thoughtfully, taking another pull on his beer. “Yeah. Tonight.”

 

“You think he’s not?” Dan can’t help asking, because if he doesn’t find out what PJ’s getting at, his mind will supply a thousand worse answers later.

 

PJ doesn’t say anything for a long time. The silence is suffocating in this tiny, hot bathroom. Dan wishes Bryony would come back. They’d all been having such a silly, fun time in here when she was in the bath too.

 

“Not long after I first met Phil, he was in a bad way.” PJ says at last, making Dan jump. “A really close friend of his had just died. It’d been really sudden and awful for him.”

 

“I know.” Dan says softly, feeling a little moody about the way PJ is speaking to him.

 

He’s Phil’s _best friend_. He knows all of this already. He knows Phil has been hurt badly in the past. Phil's told him about his friend dying so tragically. Phil tells him everything. 

 

“You know about it, Dan, but you weren’t there.” PJ says kindly, his voice far too soft and sensitive to sound patronising. “It took him so long to get over it. He wasn't exactly the life of the party before it happened, but after he went through that, it was like he couldn’t even remember how to be happy.”

 

Dan holds his breath at PJ’s words. He hates them, because the image of Phil they conjure up sounds so familiar to him.

 

“It took him a while, like I said, but eventually he snapped out of it.” PJ continues, peeling the label right off his bottle and starting to roll it into a tight ball. “I don’t know if anything prompted it, but he told me once that he made a deal with himself to be... twice a person. Like, to make himself big and bright and happy enough for both him and his friend. Sort of like... if his friend couldn't be a person anymore, Phil would be enough for both of them.”

 

Dan stares at PJ, wondering how he could possibly have gone this long without knowing this about Phil. He knows everything about Phil.

 

PJ side-eyes Dan, chuckling. “I swear it made more sense when he said it.”

 

Dan chuckles too, but it’s more of a forced laughter. His mind is reeling from this information. Phil Lester is some kind of angel, surely. Nobody is that sweet and kind and selfless outside of stories. Dan feels a little sick, suddenly. 

 

“But… you think that’s changed?” Dan asks, his voice coming out strangely hollow.

 

PJ sighs, frowning again. He flicks the ball of paper in his hand across the bathroom. It pings off the toilet seat and skitters across the floor.

 

“On the surface, he’s the same.” PJ says contemplatively. “Like tonight. Anyone could look at him and see the same old positive, happy Phil, enjoying his birthday.”

 

“Not you?” Dan prompts, heart in his throat now. He swallows thickly, the sound of it seeming to echo off each bathroom tile.

 

“No.” PJ says in a colder voice, gripping his bottle tightly. “No, I don't see the same old Phil.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Dan asks, scoffing a little, trying to appear as though he finds this whole conversation absurd. 

 

PJ turns to him, his mouth a hard line. “Because when he looks at you, Dan, he changes.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, even though inside he can feel himself splintering apart.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, his mind chants. How can PJ know this? How can he see through their careful lies?

 

“Lemme guess,” Dan says, intentionally lacing his voice with sarcastic derision, “when he looks at me, he looks just as miserable as he did right after his friend died.”

 

PJ shakes his head, and something inside of Dan practically screams in relief. “No.” Dan tilts his head back, thankful for that answer at least. “He looks worse.”

 

Dan chokes on something – the air, maybe – and tries to scrabble upright, but at that moment, there’s a furious pounding on the bathroom door.

 

“Oi!” A voice shouts from the other side, sounding an awful lot like Louise. “Who’s making out in there? I have to pee!”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, here you are.” Phil says quietly, closing Dan’s bedroom door behind him as he steps into the gloom. Huddled at the head of his bed, legs drawn up to his chest, blankets around his feet, Dan says nothing. “Are you okay?”

 

Dan watches as Phil seats himself on the bed by Dan's toes. Phil places a hand on his knee; it’s warm an comforting. Dan wants to shove it away.

 

“Bit too drunk?” Phil asks, a smile in his voice.

 

Dan sighs, lifting his face from his knees to look at Phil properly. “No. Well. Maybe. I can’t really tell.”

 

Phil presses a warm hand against his forehead then, and Dan’s eyes flutter closed of their own accord. “Hmm. You’re pretty warm. But then again you are half in bed, so…”

 

Dan smiles, eyes still shut, and then there are lips against his, the shape and pressure of them unmistakeably Phil’s. He tastes a little bit fruity, like he’s been drinking berry cider.

 

Phil draws away far too quickly for Dan’s liking, but he doesn’t complain. He lets his eyes open slowly, revealing the pretty, raven-haired boy in front of him a millimetre at a time. Phil’s smile is so large it could almost knock PJ’s words out of Dan’s brain if he weren’t so over-anxious about this sort of thing.

 

“Phil?” Dan asks tentatively as gentle fingers brush across his hair.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Are you unhappy?”

 

The smile fades from Phil’s face, and Dan hates himself for it.

 

“Why would you ask that?”

 

The thing is, Dan has no idea. Why _would_ he ask such a horrible question on Phil’s birthday? It’s not like he doesn’t know the answer. It’s not like he doesn’t sleep a thin wall away from Phil every night. It’s not like he can’t hear him crying.

 

It’s not like Phil hasn’t repeatedly told Dan how heartbroken he is. It’s not like Dan can’t see the joy it gives Phil to hold Dan on each birthday, or the pain in Phil’s eyes the morning after when Dan leaves him again.

 

“Forget it.” Dan whispers, eyes stinging. “Forget I asked.”

 

Phil looks downwards, his mouth pressing together, so Dan leans forwards and kisses him again, trying to erase the negative thoughts from Phil’s mind.

 

It takes a while for Phil to kiss him back properly, but Dan is nothing if not determined, so he just waits, slipping his hands into Phil’s hair, moving closer towards him.

 

Eventually, Dan is laid out on his back, and Phil is leant over him. Each time he breaks the kiss, Dan gazes up in wonder at the pale moonlight of his face, studying every detail of it for the residue of each heartbreak he’s endured in his eventful life. Dan’s fairylights are on; they twinkle in the cobalt blue of his best friend’s eyes, which stay fixed on him the whole time.

 

Why in the world does this unearthly being want him? What sorcery did Dan conjure up out of his own manic-depressive loneliness to ensnare Phil Lester into a vicious trap of being so utterly in love with him? Dan doesn’t understand the magic that holds Phil close to him, he never has, but he made a vow long ago that he’d do anything at all to prevent the spell from breaking.

 

For eighteen years, Dan’s world was horrifying, a daily struggle. He woke up each morning engulfed in his own misery and a certainty that he’d never find anyone who understood. He never had a best friend, because he didn’t know anyone like him. His friends all fell in love with one another, and Dan settled for a nice girl that he never once put first in five years, because he didn’t actually want her that much.

 

And then Phil came to him, shining out of his screen. Unattainable, but perfect for him in ways Dan had never even dared to dream of. Somehow, through a stroke of luck, or a perfectly timed @ reply on Twitter, Dan's life became an unbelievable fairytale. In a bizarre, Notting Hill-style, lightning strike of fate, Phil reached through cyberspace and hauled Dan from his nothing-life in nowhere-land, and into Phil-world.

 

They fell in real, actual love. The kind Dan had convinced himself didn’t exist for eighteen years. Better, and more incredible than anything Dan had ever been jealous of his friends having, he's sure. Even now, in his less naïve state of adulthood, Dan doesn’t doubt this for a moment.

 

What they don’t tell you about fairytales, though, is that happy endings aren’t real.

 

The princess’ anxiety, depression and past trauma catches up to her eventually, even in her new palace with all her fancy things. The wicked witch never really sizzles away forever in a cloud of green smoke, she just takes new form in the demons of doubt, jealousy and fear, taking root inside the happy couple's heads. 

 

It doesn’t matter how perfectly the glass slipper fits, or how dazzlingly handsome the prince is, or how powerful the magic of true love that wound the lovebirds together might seem.

 

Things can still fall apart.

 

True love's kiss can be turned into a bargaining chip.

 

The Princess can feel claustrophobic in her new, opulent carriage.

 

The people of their Kingdom can love them, but also spread foul lies and gossip that become impossible to ignore. 

 

The Prince can wander his castle each day in a haze of unhappiness, hoping that his Princess will love him just as much as she did the first time they saw one another, for years and years and years. 

 

A sob catches in Dan’s throat as he clings to Phil, harder than usual. Phil lifts his mouth from the crook of Dan’s neck, gazing down at him in surprise.

 

It’s no use pretending; Dan can feel the tears leaking out of his eyes.

 

“Dan, what’s wrong?” Phil asks, sounding panicky. He leans away from Dan at once, terrified, probably, of taking things too far again. “What did I do?”

 

“Nothing.” Dan says quickly, reaching to grab his arm in reassurance. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

 

Phil stares at him for a while. Dan wipes his tears away with his sleeve. He feels silly, suddenly. All those mad thoughts about fairytales and Princesses. He’s glad none of that bollocks actually came out of his mouth. What would Phil have thought? Dan must be really drunk, it’s the only explanation for why he's getting so upset over something so stupid. 

 

“It’s er,” Dan tries to say, his words coming out croaky. He clears his throat. “It’s probably not a good idea to get into all that now, anyway.” Dan forces out a laugh, sniffing loudly. “Still got a house full of people to entertain.”

 

Phil nods distractedly. Dan gives him the best smile he can muster, shuffling towards the end of the bed and standing up. Damn PJ, he thinks privately. That DMC really messed with his head. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.

 

'Phil’s best birthday ever.' That's definitely going well, he thinks bitterly. 

 

Shaking his head to and fro, Dan shoves his negative emotions to the back of his mind with considerable force, scrounging up a bright smile from somewhere. He turns back to Phil, winking and beaming.

 

“We’ll finish this later, I promise.” He tells Phil, trying to sound flirtatious. 

 

“Something’s upsetting you.” Phil says. It’s a statement, not an opinion.

 

Dan just shakes his head, still smiling. He walks back over to Phil and kisses him hard, trying to obliterate his thoughts. “I’m drunk, Phil. You were right. You know what I’m like when I’m wasted. I get emotional about everything.”

 

Phil watches him with a disbelieving expression as he leans away, but sighs, shrugging. “Switch to water for a while.”

 

Dan smiles. “Don’t worry, I will.”

 

* * *

 

This, it turns out, is a big fat lie. Dan would like to say it’s not his fault, and that people forcibly poured drinks into his mouth for the remainder of the night, but in all honesty, he only has himself to blame.

 

He’s on his second beer since the little episode in his bedroom with Phil, and Dan is feeling much, _much_ better. Phil had disappeared off pretty quickly after that, and Dan is moving from room to room in an attempt to avoid PJ, for obvious reasons.

 

It’s gotten quite late, so people are starting to leave. Dan begs them to reconsider, but they all look pretty wiped. They all congratulate him on throwing a brilliant party though, which makes him glow with pride. He tells each of them that it’s all for Phil, which prompts a lot of knowing glances between party guests for reasons Dan can’t quite understand.

 

“Bye, Dan!” Louise shouts as she shakes him to and fro in a hug. “Let’s hang out more, please.”

 

“Yesh.” Dan says eloquently, and Louise laughs, pinching his cheek.

 

He’s just moving away from the stairs Louise is descending when PJ approaches, Chris by his side, both of their jackets on.

 

Dan pales at the sight of them, wondering if he can make a run for it.

 

“Dan! I’ve barely seen you all night!” Chris booms, wrapping Dan in a brief hug. “Must take longer than I thought to strap yourself into your leathers for Phil’s birthday surprise later.”

 

Dan damn near spits his beer all over the carpet, but refrains somehow, swallowing a mouthful and laughing.

 

“S’rry, ’ve been,” Dan frowns in mock-disgust, “ _mingling_.”

 

“Gross.” Chris says with a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you guys soon. I already told Phil goodbye.”

 

Chris slaps him on the back as he starts down the stairs, and then it’s just him and PJ. Dan swallows, fingers tapping nervously on the side of his beer bottle.

 

“Well!” Dan begins, about to say a quick goodbye and scarper, but PJ places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Bye, Dan.” PJ tells him softly, though his tone is hard and serious. Dan stares into his eyes, stomach churning with nerves. “I enjoyed our chat earlier. So glad we agree.”

 

“Agree?” Dan asks weakly.

 

“Yeah.” PJ smiles. “That Phil deserves all the happiness. We do agree, don’t we?”

 

Dan nods, looking down into his bottle. Please, please, please can he leave this conversation?

 

“Good.” PJ says, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls something out and presses it against Dan’s chest. “So good to know that Phil has a friend like you.” PJ says, leaning closer to Dan’s ear; there’s no mistaking the quiet anger in his voice now. Dan’s eyes widen. PJ must surely be able to feel how hard his heart is pounding. “'Cause you’d never do anything to hurt someone who’s done so much for you, would you Dan?”

 

Instinctually, Dan’s hand comes up to grasp whatever it is PJ has pressed against his chest, shaking. As soon as his fingers come into contact with the edges of the paper, Dan’s heart sinks, sensing what it is.

 

Oh, _fuck_.

 

Before Dan can think to defend himself, PJ is gone, and Bryony is in front of him instead.

 

“Dan?” She asks, sounding concerned. The edges of the piece of paper jab into Dan’s palm where he's scrunched it up in his hand. “Are you okay?”

 

Dan just shakes his head, having no idea how to explain. He feels like he’s about to pass out. He should run after PJ... He should explain. He needs to explain himself. The beer bottle slips from his grasp, and Bryony catches it somehow before it hits the ground. 

 

"Woah!" She cries out, slipping an arm around his waist. "Okay, you big lug. Time for bed." 

 

Dan's head lolls against her shoulder, and his eyes slip closed.

 

"Wirrow?!" Bryony shouts, right by Dan's ear, making him wince.

 

There are footsteps coming towards him, and lots of concerned mutters. Then, he's being walked forwards. Arms wind around him like tentacles, keeping him upright as he's marched down the corridor.

 

"No," he protests weakly, trying to struggle, but finding it difficult to control his limbs. He has to go after PJ. He has to talk to him. "PJ..."

 

"PJ left an hour ago, Dan." Someone says impatiently, and Dan frowns, uncomprehending.

 

No, that's not right. He and PJ were just speaking.

 

People continue to usher him forwards, walking him somewhere. He doesn’t want to walk. He wants to curl up on the floor and wallow in misery.

 

"Phil..." Dan manages to get out, meaning that he needs to speak with his best friend about something very important.

 

Nobody seems to understand this, though.

 

"Phil's in the living room, sweetie." Bryony tells him in a gentle voice. "I'll get him to come and see you in a minute if you're still awake."

 

Belatedly, Dan realises he's seated now, and Bryony is taking off his shoes. He blinks at his surroundings, confused, and realises he's sat on his bed, in his room.

 

"No!" Dan cries, attempting to stand up, kicking Bryony in the process.

 

He doesn't have the energy to apologise to her right now. He'll send her a fruit basket tomorrow. He'll send PJ a fruit basket too. Everyone, in fact. Where do people get fruit baskets? He's not sure, but he'll Google it in the morning and send everyone a fruit basket. 

 

"Dan, for fuck's sake!" Bryony shouts, clutching her nose. That must be where Dan kicked her. "What's the matter? Get into bed, you lunatic." 

 

"No." Dan protests, pouting. He sways on his feet, trying to scramble over to the door.

 

He trips and almost falls, but Wirrow catches hold of him.

 

"Phil's room." He tells Wirrow's chest. 

 

"Dan... I don't think that's a good idea." Bryony tells him, sounding concerned. 

 

Dan sighs in exasperation. She doesn't  _understand._ She thinks that Dan's forgotten that he and Phil are broken up or something. But she just doesn't know about the Birthday Sex. 

 

"It's okay." Dan tells her, frustrated. "Phil knows it's okay. It's in the _rules_." 

 

Bryony doesn't say anything, so Dan opens his hand, prepared to show her the sticky note PJ had handed to him earlier. If she just reads the rules, she'll understand. His hand, however, is empty. Dan frowns down at it, confused. Where the heck did the rules list go? He was holding it just a minute ago, wasn't he? 

 

Bryony just sighs at him. "Look, whatever. I'm tired and you need to be in bed. Let's just get you into Phil's room. He can kick you out later if he wants." 

 

Dan sighs happily, letting himself be walked across the hall without protest. 

 

Bryony's a great friend. 

 

* * *

 

Dan wakes up in the dark. He’s hot, and very uncomfortable. He tries to move, but finds himself restricted by something heavy. He groans into the darkness, irritated by his own sluggish movements; he’s clearly not yet sober.

 

Something stirs beside him, making him jump, and Dan realises he’s not alone. A long, equally hot body is spread out beside him, and over him, one arm draped over his middle.

 

It must be Phil, Dan assumes. Who the fuck else would it be?

 

Feeling agitated in his current state of discomfort, Dan elbows Phil in stomach a few times to wake him.

 

“Phil?” Dan hisses into the silence. “ _Phil_?”

 

There’s an answering groan. Then: “Mm?”

 

Despite everything, the sound of Phil’s half-asleep answer makes Dan smile. He rolls his eyes at his own sentimentality over his best friend.

 

“Let me up, I’m boiling.”

 

Instead of obeying, Phil’s arm seems to tighten around Dan’s middle, pulling him even closer. Dan genuinely wonders if it’s possible to die from overheating by being cuddled.

 

“Phil!” Dan shouts, done with being quiet. “I’m not kidding, I will-”

 

A gasp of air is punched out of Dan’s lungs as Phil’s hand inserts itself into the front of his trousers. Vaguely, he realises that a large part of the reason he’s so hot is because he’s in bed, under the covers, fully dressed.

 

Instead of remedying this, however, Dan just pushes his hips forwards into Phil’s touch.

 

“You are hot.” Phil agrees, moving across the space between them to kiss him. The kiss lasts no longer than five seconds, and then Phil draws away, pushing the covers off them.

 

Dan closes his eyes in relief. It’s not enough, though. He needs to submerge his entire ass in the freezer.

 

Phil’s hands seem to hear Dan’s train of thought. Phil removes himself from the front of Dan’s pants in order to unfasten the belt and zipper, and then he pulls Dan’s t-shirt off in a swift movement.

 

Dan could cry from how good it feels. That is until Phil tugs his underwear and jeans over his butt and thighs, then pulls them off of Dan entirely. He throws all of these garments across the room, leaving Dan naked on the bed, practically moaning in relief.

 

“Fuck, that's so much-” Dan starts to say, and then Phil’s mouth is on him, engulfing his barely hard length with ease.

 

Dan groans, his toes curling at the first touch of Phil’s tongue against his frenulum. It’s preposterous, how good Phil is at this.

 

“Ph-Phil-” Dan chokes out, squirming about beneath Phil’s ministrations. “Fuck! It’s your birthday, Phil, let me- ow!”

 

Phil pulls off to bite at the flesh of Dan’s inner thigh, silencing him. Dan can’t help pushing his hips up into that delicious wet warmth as soon as Phil is around him again, so he does. Phil lets him, he always lets him, and _God_ Dan is so damn lucky-

 

Phil pulls off suddenly, abruptly. He reaches across Dan towards his bedside table, pulling open the drawer to rummage about inside. It’s at this point that Dan finally realises he’s in Phil’s bedroom right now. He frowns, wondering how that happened.

 

Phil pulls out a familiar looking bottle of lubricant, and something else Dan doesn’t recognise. His swirling brain can't focus on anything but feeling, however, so he forgets it almost at once.

 

Besides, in moments Phil’s tongue is swirling about on the head of his cock again, which makes every thought in Dan’s brain combust simultaneously.

 

A slippery finger presses against his hole, which he accepts eagerly, drawing his legs up high to give Phil better access. Phil’s finger pushes inside, joined quickly by a second, scissoring and stretching him as Phil’s mouth continues working itself over Dan’s cock.

 

Dan’s back arches off the bed, his mind slipping into another, separate dimension of pure bliss. He moans Phil’s name, head tossing on the pillow, his fingers tangled in the bedsheets.

 

All of a sudden, a whirring noise starts up, very faint, almost like a mechanical mosquito. Dan pays it little attention, too engrossed in the pleasure to focus on anything else.

 

“Dan,” Phil murmurs, his voice deliciously deep and husky, as it often gets during sex, “I’m gonna try something now, okay? Tell me if you don’t like it.”

 

Immediately, Dan is terrified. He tenses, eyes flying open. He attempts to sit up and see what Phil’s doing down there, but the sensation of Phil’s tongue laving over him again weakens his muscles and he sinks back into the mattress.

 

He decides to just agree. He’s got his safeword, after all. How bad could it be? “Okay.”

 

Seconds after the confirmation is received, Phil is pressing something against Dan’s rim. It’s cooler than Phil’s finger, hard and smooth. More importantly than all of these things, it _vibrates_.

 

The sound gets stuck in Dan’s throat. He freezes up, his eyes rolling backwards, his hands pulling the sheet from the edges of Phil’s mattress.

 

Then he lets out a moan. It’s loud enough that the dog downstairs begins barking madly, and Dan can hear Phil chuckling. Dan’s legs hook around Phil’s waist, squeezing.

 

“Oh my fu-jucking- _Phil_ -”

 

"I got this for you for your last birthday." Phil confesses in a deep, scratchy voice. "Didn't really get an opportunity to use it though, in the end."

 

Dan just moans, curse words tumbling from his lips like raindrops. 

 

“How does it feel, baby?” Phil asks, sounding genuinely curious.

 

Dan groans, panting heavily as Phil traces circles around his hole with the tip of the vibrator. How does it feel? _How does it feel?_

 

Are there even words in the English language that could explain? He can feel the tingling coursing through his entire body, fizzing through him like a dazzling meteor shower.

 

It’s unbearable. His cock pulses steadily, fluid pouring out, Phil collecting it occasionally on his tongue.

 

“G-good.” Dan manages, sure he can feel each one of his blood vessels shaking and bursting in turn.

 

Phil hums in satisfaction, then pushes the object past Dan’s entrance, slipping it inside of him. Dan whines, one hand groping about, not even sure what he’s searching for until Phil’s fingers lace in between his.

 

Tears sting in Dan’s eyes. His teeth dig into his lower lip. This is excruciating. He feels on the very, very edge of coming, but he can’t. It’s torturous, Phil is slipping the gadget inside of him over and over, eliciting sensations he’s never dreamt of before.

 

“Phil, I can’t…” Dan breathes, nails digging into the back of Phil’s hand where he grips it. “Please, please…”

 

“Need me to touch you, Dan?” Phil asks, and Dan nods frantically. He can’t see, and he belatedly realises it’s due to his eyes screwing themselves shut against the stimulation.

 

Suddenly, there’s warmth upon him, Phil’s body atop his. Their faces are close. “Let go, baby.”

 

Dan doesn’t know what he means. He _can’t_ let go, doesn’t Phil understand? He’s so fucking close, but so far away as well, and Phil needs to touch him or he’ll go mad-

 

“Let go of my hand, Dan.” Phil murmurs again, attempting to pull his fingers free of Dan’s.

 

Oh.

 

Dan releases him as soon as he can figure out where his limbs end and Phil’s begin, which is more of a difficult task than usual for some reason. As soon as he’s free, Phil snakes his hand down to clasp his and Dan’s erections in one, tight fist. His other hand wields the vibrator still, guiding it carefully in and out of Dan.

 

Phil’s strokes over their erections are messy and uncoordinated. He seems to be having trouble working both the vibrator and their cocks at the same time, so Dan reaches down to help get them off. He’s so far gone that he’s not sure he’s helping at all, but together they manage to get some sort of rhythm going, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.

 

Phil comes first, and Dan topples after him, clenching around the vibrator, his legs tightening around Phil’s waist. Phil kisses him so hard as he orgasms that Dan feels lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. It’s so good, so fucking good. Dan near passes out with how incredible it feels. He whispers how amazing it feels against Phil’s lips, and Phil whispers back that he loves him.

 

After it’s over, Dan falls asleep pretty much straight away. He wakes up once again smothered in heat, but it’s not as unbearable this time. He feels a little bit less fuzzy, and he thinks he can see a hint of daylight peeking through the blinds.

 

He turns in Phil’s arms, burrowing into him. His lips graze Phil’s neck, and a thought crosses his mind that he’s never felt safer than right now.

 

“You ‘wake?” Phil murmurs, making Dan suck in a breath of surprise.

 

“Yeah.” Dan whispers into Phil’s clavicle.

 

He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so clingy, but he finds himself slipping his hand round to Phil’s back, rubbing the skin there.

 

He’s got such soft skin. He uses all the girliest shower products. Raspberry shampoo and moisturising Dove body cream, amongst other things. He always smells delicious, and right now is no exception. Dan inhales deeply, basking in the sweet, fruity fragrance of his closest friend.

 

“Are you feeling better now?” Phil asks, pressing a kiss to Dan’s temple.

 

Dan frowns. “What d’you mean?”

 

“You were crying before.” Phil reminds him gently, pressing another few kisses to Dan’s forehead. “Then you went all funny. Bry and Wirrow had to carry you to bed.”

 

Dan leans back a little, staring into Phil’s sleepy eyes. He has no recollection of what Phil's talking about. He feels his stomach flip with anxiety; he hates not remembering how he acted after getting drunk. What if he misspoke, or revealed too much? Who knows what he might have accidentally let slip to Bryony, considering how much she knows already. 

 

“Did they?” Dan asks. 

 

Phil giggles. “Yeah. Apparently they took you to your room but you kicked up a big fuss and insisted on being put in here.”

 

Dan pales, eyes widening. “Shit.”

 

Phil laughs again, kissing him quickly. “It’s okay. I told them it’s because Chris and PJ had sex in your bed earlier.”

 

Dan’s mouth falls open. “Phil!”

 

“Would you rather I told them the real reason?” Phil asks, raising one eyebrow.

 

Dan huffs, relenting. “Still.”

 

“So, what made you so upset?” Phil asks after a second.

 

Dan is silent for a moment, thinking about how best to respond. Should he tell Phil what PJ and him had spoken about in the bathtub? Should he burden Phil with that or let him carry on in blissful ignorance? 

 

There's something else, too, Dan thinks, frowning slightly as he tries to remember. Something to do with PJ. Something bigger than the bathtub chat. All he can recall is a sickly feeling of dread around PJ's name, nothing more. Oh God, he thinks, what on earth did he say whilst intoxicated? Did he yell at PJ like he yelled at Adam? Did PJ guess something a little too close to the mark about Dan and Phil's friendship? 

 

He can't remember, try as he might. It'll come back to him at some point, probably. 

 

For now, Dan just stares into the bright, innocent eyes of this pure, once happy little man that he’s wrecked so totally in just four years. There's no need to burden him with anything. Especially not right now. 

 

“I told you,” Dan says around a smile. “I’m an emotional drunk. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Phil looks unsure, but his eyelids droop in a telltale fashion. “Hmm. Kay.”

 

Dan presses their lips together again. “So, best birthday ever?”

 

Phil smiles, his eyes falling closed. “Easily.”

 

“What’d you wish for?” Dan asks, gazing fondly at Phil’s sleeping face.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Adam told you to make a wish when you blew out the candles.” Dan reminds him. “What did you wish for?”

 

“Oh.” Phil says, yawning suddenly. Dan yawns immediately afterwards, which makes them both chuckle. “What I always wish for.”

 

Dan’s brow creases. “What’s that?”

 

Phil’s breathing evens out, and his mouth falls slack. He’s fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Adam tweets a photo of Phil about to blow out his candles.  
> \- whataboutadam (2014), "Birthday boy!! @AmazingPhil" [tweet], https://twitter.com/whataboutadam/status/429417511697022976.
> 
> Phil posts a photo of himself in the Jake hoodie Dan bought him as a birthday present.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "!! @danisnotonfire got me a Jake hoodie for my birthday :D" [Instagram], https://www.instagram.com/p/jzVtVOrBIj/.
> 
> Phil tweets about having a party on the evening of his birthday  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "My playlist for tonight's birthday party! I found it in my bedroom from 1998" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/429296857521876992.
> 
> Phanswers link about what Dan and Phil got each other for Christmas in 2013  
> \- phanswers (2014), "what did dan get for phil on xmas and what did phil get for dan on xmas?? :)" [tumblr], http://phanswers.tumblr.com/post/72731665488/what-did-dan-get-for-phil-on-xmas-and-what-did. 
> 
> Phil used to want a collection of metallic green envelopes  
> \- AmazingPhil (2012), "Why I was a weird kid" [Youtube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1RKt6nZJoB0, (1:52).
> 
> Dan and Phil and Louise hung out at Playlist Live 2013  
> \- SprinkleofChatter (2013), "Shrimp Hate Me | Playlist Day 3" [Youtube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80Cv9Tyx5EU, (6:48).
> 
> Cat vlogs VidCon 2013, hangs out with Dan and Phil  
> \- catrific (2013), "VIDCON AND FRIENDS" [Youtube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhdnMQaGcg8, (3:39).


	7. Dan's Twenty-Third Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YouTube conventions are guaranteed hotbeds for steamy, scandalous hookups between creators. This year is no exception.

June 11th, 2014 (Dan is Twenty-Three)

 

_(Two months before Dan's birthday)_

 

There’s still two months and nineteen days until Dan’s birthday, but Phil kisses him anyway.

 

For a magical, at once infinite and fractional second, Dan continues laughing against his mouth. Phil could swear, for a moment, that he even feels Dan kiss him back.

 

Then, in a heartbeat, Dan draws away, eyes round and fearful, the smile disappearing as quickly as the ice in their cocktails did earlier, unable to cope with the Floridian heat.

 

“What the fuck?” Dan whispers at him.

 

Phil doesn’t move away at first, he just searches Dan’s face for any trace of evidence that he wants Phil to lean in again.

 

All he sees are Dan’s wide, chocolate eyes, and the horrified emotion behind them. He leans away after a while, rolling onto his back beside Dan, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room.

 

“Sorry.” Phil murmurs, though he knows he sounds anything but. “Must be drunk.”

 

Dan is quiet for a moment beside him, and Phil wonders if he’s going to yell. It wouldn’t exactly be out of the question, considering Phil did just ‘break the rules’.

 

He could have sworn that Dan was flirting with him. All evening, Dan has been nothing but coy smiles and suggestive comments. He’s virtually ignored Cat for the whole time they’ve been at the convention, despite them spending practically all of their time with her.

 

It's been kind of awkward actually, how little Dan has spoken to her. On Friday, they’d taken a trip to Epcot as a trio; Dan had barely even acknowledged Cat’s presence the whole time they were there, forcing Phil to engage her in overly peppy conversation to make up for his rudeness. That was eleven ‘countries’ they’d trawled around in the Floridian heat, exhausted from jet lag and struggling to maintain a cheerful enough level of chatter with a girl who had played a big part in shattering Phil’s heart not long ago.

 

To make things slightly worse, Cat had vlogged the entire day, along with a great deal of this evening. Dan had excused himself for the Epcot rudeness on camera, telling Cat’s audience that he’d been grumpy due to jet lag.

 

It hadn’t stopped him from going out that evening with a bunch of their friends however, and it hasn’t seemed to affect him since. He’s just been off with Cat for no conceivable reason Phil can see other than plain indifference.

 

Instead, a vast majority of Dan’s attention for the past two days has been lavished upon Phil. It has seemed to Phil, in fact, for the majority of this slightly delirious feeling trip to Playlist Live so far, that he and Dan have been oddly close. Couply, even, some might say. Joey Graceffa did say this in fact, at which point Dan lifted his middle finger up, grinning inanely and guzzling the dregs of his beer.

 

Phil remembers this moment fuzzily. Was that earlier tonight or yesterday? The two evenings that have already passed have begun to blend into one dark, sticky, wild mess.

 

He turns towards Dan, suddenly very aware that the younger boy hasn’t spoken.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks tentatively. “I said I’m sorry. It was stupid, I know-”

 

Dan moves quickly, pouncing on him, panther-like. His hands pin Phil’s shoulders to the bed, all of his weight on them. It hurts slightly, but Phil is too stunned to notice. His face hovers above Phil’s, expression nearly unreadable. If Phil had to guess, he’d say that Dan’s drunken side was currently caught in a dramatic argument with his sober self.

 

Phil holds his breath, praying for the former of these to win out.

 

“It’s not my birthday,” Dan says, though it’s clear that sentence is unfinished.

 

Phil watches him with wide eyes, wondering what the hell he’s thinking and if it would be inappropriate to slide his hands down Dan’s back right now and squeeze a handful of his gorgeous bum.

 

Of course it would, he berates himself, mentally giving his drunk brain a slap.

 

Dan’s eyes roam over Phil’s face, then down to the open 'V' of his shirt collar. He’s still in turmoil, Phil can see it in the way his brow creases. Phil brings a finger up to Dan’s forehead, intending to smooth it out.

 

Dan sighs, closing his eyes at the touch. Then he rolls off of Phil, hoisting himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard. “It’s not my birthday.” Dan says again. “You can’t kiss me. It’s against the rules.”

 

Phil groans, rolling over onto his side. He laughs into the pillow despite finding nothing funny whatsoever. “Right. How could I forget the _rules_?”

 

His sarcastic tone will irritate Dan, he predicts. Dan will shout at him now, in all likelihood. He’ll boot Phil out of this room and back to his own despite the fact it’s 3am and Phil is way too drunk to remember where his own room even is.

 

“I don’t know!” Dan shouts suddenly, just as Phil knew he would. “How _could_ you forget them? They’re pretty fucking simple, after all.”

 

Phil rolls onto his back again, gazing at Dan from his position. He’s so tired, suddenly. He tries quirking a smile. “Don’t be mad at me.”

 

For a moment, it seems like this might work. Dan’s face uncreases, the frown disappearing momentarily from from his gorgeous features. Then, just like Phil never spoke, it’s back in a flash.

 

Dan clambers off the bed, scoffing. “Whatever.”

 

Phil watches him amble drunkenly towards the bathroom and fumble about for the lightswitch. He slams the door shut when he gets inside, and Phil winces at the loud noise, wondering if anyone in a neighbouring room was woken by it.

 

Letting his eyes fall closed is a bad idea, Phil is aware. Dan will get really annoyed if he comes out of the bathroom to find Phil asleep on his bed.

 

He yawns, stretching his limbs out across the comfy quilt, and his hand knocks into something hard. His half-closed eyes widen with reluctance, grabbing hold of whatever it is.

 

When he sees what’s in his grasp, he feels a little less sleepy, suddenly. It’s a phone.

 

He squints at it, trying to work out if it’s his or Dan’s, which is mildly difficult as they have the same one. He flips it over, rolling his eyes at the very telling pastel purple phone case with Kanye’s disembodied head floating in the centre. Dan had nearly come in his pants beside Phil when he’d discovered it in the weird Florida tourist shop yesterday.

 

So, Phil concludes. It’s Dan’s phone.

 

He’s holding Dan’s iPhone in his hand.

 

It’s password protected, obviously. Phil smiles to himself. If he were anyone else, Dan’s security measures might be an issue, but Phil is Phil, Dan’s closest friend, the person he trusts most in all the world. There’s nothing Dan denies Phil access to of his, aside from his body, and even that isn’t out of the question all year round.

 

It practically goes without saying that they know one another’s passwords. Not only for practicality – dual access to their joint bank account for when they’re paid as a double act, the password for the SuperAmazingProject, or each other’s YouTube accounts, to name a few – but also just because they are so involved in each other’s lives it doesn’t feel like an intrusion for the other one to have access to their private information.

 

 _Because of the implicit trust you have in one another,_ a voice in his mind warns.

 

Phil chews his lip, debating. Dan never goes anywhere without his phone. This is kind of a once in a lifetime opportunity, not that he’s expecting to find anything he doesn’t already know.

 

He knows it’s bad to snoop, though. Even if he knows it all already.

 

To settle his curious brain, he clicks the home button, intending just to see if Dan’s received a Twitter notification or text, but not planning on signing in. Expecting to be met with Dan’s boring, generic rain-splatter lock screen, Phil’s eyebrows lift in shock; instead, flooding Dan’s screen is a flurry of texts.

 

He scrolls down, and finds that there are a _lot._ At least thirty, probably. He still has his contacts in, luckily, so it’s not hard to see that they’re all from one person. Phil brings the phone close to his face, ensuring he’s not misreading it.

 

They’re all from Cat.

 

He scrolls to the bottom again, looking for the very first one, which was sent almost three hours ago now. That was probably just after he and Dan left the party.

 

 **From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:07am** _  
_ Wher’d u go? Xxxx

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:10am** _  
_ Dan pls

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:13am**  
Tell me u were lyingg

  
**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:22am**  
I know u

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:24am**  
You lved me

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:31am**  
Phil wdny do tht

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:32am**  
Wouldn’t

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**00:58am**  
Did u leave me for him

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:01am**  
Dn tell me where u are

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:18am**  
Im coming to ur room

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:24am**  
Fuck I csnt rmembr what one it is

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:30am**  
Dan

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:32am**  
Dan

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:46am**  
Come to my room

**From: Cat**  
**To: Dan**  
**01:49am**  
Pls come Dan I need u

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking jolts Phil out of his reading session and he hurls the phone away from himself in terror. Dan stumbles out of the bathroom, cursing. Phil’s heart is pounding; he'd gotten just over halfway through all of the texts, but he can’t make sense of what he just read.

 

“Ok, I forgive you.” Dan declares, throwing himself face-first onto the bed. “Sorry I got mad. You caught me off guard.”

 

Phil stares at him dumbly. Dan is no longer the same person that left the room a moment ago. The implication of those texts have made him into someone new in Phil’s eyes.

 

“Dan, did you break up with Cat?” Phil asks in a whisper.

 

Dan lifts his head slightly from the covers to scowl at him. “What? No, she dumped me, I told you.”

 

Phil wonders how best to proceed. Does he tell Dan what he just read and almost certainly make him mad again? Or does he accept Dan’s lie about Cat breaking up with him and wonder indefinitely about what really happened?

 

Like that’s even a decision in his drink-addled state of mind.

 

“Why does Cat think you left her for me?” Phil asks, at once terrified and awed in the face of the answer.

 

Dan balks at Phil. “What?”

 

As if on cue, Dan’s phone tings. Phil wonders vaguely why he hasn’t been hearing that sound all night, considering the amount of texts Cat has sent. Dan grabs it, still scowling, and looks at the latest text. He scrolls down them all, skimming through.

 

“You bastard.” Dan mutters. “You read these?”

 

“Your phone buzzed and I thought it was mine.” Phil lies. “Tell me what really happened with her, Dan, because it obviously involves me.”

 

Dan looks quietly livid for a moment, a furious rebuttal poised on his flushed pink lips. Then, he slumps in on himself, tossing the phone to one side.

 

“Ugh.” He groans, half into the covers. “Fine. I broke up with her, alright?”

 

Phil just stares, completely speechless. _What?_

He’d been confused, at first, when Dan and Cat had split up. Especially as it was so soon after Dan’s birthday. He still isn’t sure exactly when it was, as Dan never bothered to share the specifics. But then, in the weeks that followed, Dan had been miserable. He’d slumped around the flat all day, not bothering to change out of the tracksuit bottoms and baggy t-shirt that he slept in.

 

Phil had been worried about him. He'd looked after him. In hindsight, it doesn't seem the least bit odd that he’d naturally assumed that the reason for Dan’s depressive state was that Cat had cast him aside.

 

Then, when Phil had tentatively offered kind assurances that Cat didn’t know what she was missing, and that she must have done it because she didn’t want to lose him for good, Dan hadn’t argued. He’d let Phil assume, as he obviously did, that Cat – for whatever reason – had dumped him.

 

It’s the only thing that makes logical sense, after all, even now. Why would Dan have been so miserable if he was the one to end things? Moreover, why on earth _would_ he end things with Cat? He seemed more than happy with his relationship with her, most of the time. He took every opportunity to flaunt his long-distance, low-maintenance relationship with a bright, fun, beautiful American girl to anyone that he knew.

 

“ _Why_?” Phil blurts, flabbergasted.

 

His mind is having difficulty wrapping itself around this totally unexpected information.

 

Dan sighs, lifting his chest off the bed and leaning on his forearms. He avoids looking Phil in the eye. “Things… just weren’t working.” Phil waits for Dan to expand on this, eyes still bulging. “She lived too far away.”

 

Dan shrugs, playing with a loose thread in the bedcovers.

 

“That didn’t seem to bother you before.” Phil comments, frowning.

 

“Before _what_?” Dan asks, his question a little accusatory, Phil can’t help but notice.

 

Phil’s face heats a little. “Your birthday.”

 

Dan splutters a laugh. “My birthday? You think that’s why I dumped her?”

 

“She arrived on our doorstep unexpectedly, just as we were about to-”

 

“So, you think I dumped her because she flew halfway round the world to see me on my birthday?” Dan interrupts, laughing again. “Yeah, that was a real dick move on her part, for sure.”

 

Phil stares at Dan in disbelief, perpetually amazed by his ability to casually omit the truth of what happened in order to maintain his own fantasy-like version of events.

 

“Dan…” Phil reminds him in a near-whisper. “You climbed into bed with her, then crawled out of it again in the middle of the night so that I could fuck you right next door.”

 

Dan scowls, lifting himself up and sliding off the bed. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

 

This time, it’s Phil who laughs. “Right. Ok.”

 

“Look, can we just go to bed, please?” Dan asks, clearly irritated. He lifts his shirt over his head, entrancing Phil for a second. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

 

Phil swallows thickly, telling himself to unstick his eyes from all the miles of exposed flesh Dan has uncovered. “Uh, yeah.”

 

Dan turns towards him, noticing the look on his face. He laughs. “Christ, Phil, keep it in your pants. We’ve got two months to go yet, remember?”

 

Phil tears his eyes away, hot with shame and embarrassment. “Yeah.” He says vaguely. “Think I’ll go back to my room.”

 

He stands, wobbling immediately on unsteady legs, and almost falls straight back onto the bed. At once, hands are steadying him, and when he looks to his right, Dan is next to him, shirtless, his face amused.

 

“I’m sure you’d have a fabulous 3am hotel hallway adventure if I let you leave, Phil,” Dan says as he manhandles Phil around the bed, “but seeing as I’d probably be woken up in an hour anyway when reception ring me to come scoop you up and take you to your room, you might as well stop being a twat and climb in with me.”

 

Phil is lost in the muddy brown of Dan’s irises at this point, so he just nods slightly, allowing Dan to push him down onto the mattress and pull the covers over him.

 

Gosh, he really is tired, he remembers as his head hits the pillow. A weight dips the mattress beside him, and a blurry, tanned shape fills his vision. He still has his contacts in, he remembers with a groan.

 

He can’t be bothered to remove them, though. His eyes fall closed, but his heart aches at the loss of the sight of Dan at once, blurry as he may be. He tries to peel them open again, but they won’t listen.

 

“Dan?” He whimpers, aware of the pathetic tone of his voice, but unable to do much about it.

 

Dan giggles breathily somewhere close by; Phil can feel his breath against his cheek. A few minutes, or maybe hours later, Phil feels jostling beside him, and a warm, lithe body scoots up close.

 

“Night, Philly.” Dan whispers right by his ear. Phil turns towards the sound, but his eyes still won’t open, no matter how hard he tells them to.

 

Not that it really matters all that much.

 

He can still _feel_ Dan beside him. He can recognise the weight of him, the scent, the pattern of breathing. He smiles very slightly, leaning closer to the presence at his side.

 

His nose brushes something, and he hears a tiny gasp.

 

“Night.” He whispers back into the dark void.

 

He must fall into unconsciousness after that, because the next thing he registers is a small, fluttery, almost paper-like softness against his lips.

 

Obviously, his mind is kinder to him during dreams than it is in waking.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dan, truth or dare?”

 

“Fuck right off.” Dan laughs, jabbing his finger at a grinning Tyler. “We are not playing _truth or dare_.”

 

“Uh oh, Dan’s too classy for us.” Cat pipes up, grinning.

 

Phil smirks behind the neck of his beer bottle.

 

Dan sends Cat a withering look. “I’m the least classy of all of you. I grew up in a council house in fucking _Wokingham_.”

 

Tyler repeats this sentence, word for word, in a very exaggerated Queen-posh British accent, sending everyone else in the room into fits of laughter.

 

“Oh, alright fine!” Dan shouts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll play your stupid kids game, you literal twelve year olds. If your subscribers could see their idols now.”

 

“Oh, Daniel,” Louise chides from her position on the edge of the bed beside Dan. She slips her arm around his shoulders and squeezes in an attempt to remove the sullen look from his face. “Stop being so grumpy, we’re only teasing.”

 

Dan rubs his darkly circled eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why he’s so tetchy tonight. Phil isn’t sure what time he and Dan eventually managed to get to sleep last night, but it probably wasn’t before four.

 

Oh well, Phil thinks, sipping his Desperado. Alcohol will help to lift their spirits.

 

“Yeah, and you still haven’t picked truth or dare!” Cat reminds Dan, her grin so wide and fake that it’s mildly disconcerting to behold.

 

“ _Dare_.” Dan says defiantly, taking a huge swig of his Budweiser. “Let’s see what you’ve got then, kiddies.”

 

Phil’s eyebrows lift a little at Dan’s bravado, but he says nothing. He’s been pretty quiet all evening, exhausted from his late night and subsequent hellish day of meet and greets with fans. In all honesty, Phil would much rather be tucked up in bed right now, as would Dan, he suspects. But it’s the last night of Playlist, so they have to attend. Still, at present, Phil’s not prepared to do much more than sit in the armchair in the corner of Tyler’s hotel room, observing the events of the evening as they unfold.

 

His talk with Dan last night hasn’t stopped looping on a continuous circuit in his brain all day, so his focus tonight is to keep to himself, quietly drowning it out with alcohol until he falls asleep.

 

He drinks a bit more Desperado – his second bottle of the evening – wishing his brain would shut off for a while.

 

“Gang, let’s think.” Tyler says brightly, beaming away. His cheeks are flushed from the Malibu and coke he’s drinking, along with the stifling heat of the hotel room. “What’s a dare worthy of Dan Howell?”

 

“I think we all know what you wanna dare him.” Louise jokes, her voice laced with barely concealed sexual undertones. Tyler immediately blushes a brighter shade, and everyone laughs.

 

“Ah, the truth comes out, Ty. I knew there must have been an ulterior motive behind this game.” Dan laughs, winking devilishly at Tyler.

 

“Yeah, I’m not an expert on morality,” Cat interjects, still grinning in that unusual manner, “but using a kids party game to make out with Dan probably isn’t great…”

 

“Oh, okay, _fine._ Party poopers.” Tyler huffs, entirely unfazed that his plan has seemingly been foiled.

 

Phil gazes at Tyler in wonder, unsure if he’s just playing up to the Louise’s joke. Could he really have been about to use a game of Truth or Dare to get his hands on Dan? If so, Phil’s been pretty blind thus far to Tyler’s infatuation for him.

 

His stomach tightens uncomfortably, protesting the idea of anyone else getting anywhere close to Dan in that respect, even if it is during a game. He downs the rest of his bottle, suddenly very aware of how close he might have just come to witnessing yet another pretty American kiss the love of his life.

 

“But, there aren’t any rules against him kissing _other_ people, right?” Tyler asks in a mischievous tone, grinning at people dotted around the room.

 

Phil’s shoulders seize up, and he notices Dan’s jaw twitch. For fuck’s sake, Phil thinks privately, gripping his bottle hard. Must he watch everyone seated in this room make out with Dan at some point or other?

 

Louise shrugs, but glances to her left, catching Dan’s eye and grimacing. “ _I’m_ not kissing him.”

 

“Thanks, Lou.” Dan says dryly, lifting his bottle in salute. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

 

“I’ve got a husband!” Louise protests, blushing a little. “And a _child!_ You practically _are_ a child compared to me.”

 

“A twenty-two year old infant.” Dan sighs, drinking some beer. “I always wondered how my legacy preceded me.”

 

“Okay, Louise gets a pass.” Tyler acquiesces. “As does Cat, for obvious reasons.”

 

There isn’t the barest hint of embarrassment in Tyler’s voice, despite Cat’s stricken look of mortification.

 

“Caspar’s fixated on some blonde chick back in London, as ever,” Tyler says, tutting at the boy in question, who laughs. “Troye’s mine, so that’s a no go.”

 

Troye, a young, pretty Australian vlogger Tyler had introduced earlier in the night, laughs timidly at Tyler’s joke, blushing.

 

“So, Phil!” Tyler announces, whipping his head round to fix Phil with a stare. There’s a gleam in his eyes that makes Phil instantly queasy. “I guess it’s your lucky night.”

 

“W-what?” Phil asks, hoping he’s missed something.

 

“I mean, this is nowhere near as exciting as my original dare.” Tyler says with a sigh, sitting back in his chair. “After all, these two have probably kissed hundreds of times.”

 

“Um, what?” Dan interjects, splashing a few drops of beer onto his trouser leg. “Why the fuck would we have-”

 

“Not like _that._ Sheesh _._ ” Tyler interrupts, rolling his eyes at Dan. “We’ve all received the unfortunate memo about your boring heterosexuality, Dan, don’t worry. I mean, like, you guys must have kissed drunkenly. At parties and stuff. Straight boys are always doing that shit, right? To ‘impress girls’ or whatever lame excuse they can think up to justify their experimentation.”

 

The room is silent, marvelling at Tyler’s theory. Phil’s mouth is slightly open, completely awed by this whole situation. What the fuck is happening?

 

“Tyler… do you actually know any straight boys?” Louise asks him at last, sounding incredulous.

 

“Thankfully very few.” Tyler replies. His bright blue eyes flick from face to face, assessing everyone’s reaction. “Do they not do that?”

 

“No.” Dan states firmly, cheeks reddened.

 

Phil’s eyes slide over to Dan and he suppresses a snort of laughter. It’s amazing really, how easily the lies slip off that silken tongue that Dan holds between his teeth.

 

Has there ever been a more apt description of Dan, after all, than an apparently ‘straight boy’ that wants to kiss boys?

 

“Okay, whatever.” Tyler says, sounding bored by this subject now. “So, Dan, I dare you kiss Phil.”

 

Tyler sits up a little straighter, his interest in the matter peaked now that he’s been informed that straight people don’t actually make out at every opportunity outside of porn.

 

Little does Tyler know that neither Dan nor Phil fit very well into the ‘straight’ category. Dan splutters at Tyler’s dare, stammering about for a way to respond.

 

“No.” Phil replies in Dan’s place, his blood starting to simmer in his veins.

 

He struggles to remain in control of himself, purposefully not looking at Dan. Instead, he lifts his gaze to Tyler, staring at him levelly, chin stuck out in defiance. He won’t let himself be weak about this.

 

“Oh, come on Phil.” Tyler wheedles, grinning. “Just let him give you a teensy kiss?”

 

“No.” Phil says again, his voice soft but unmoving.

 

Then Phil hears Dan snort from across the room. Phil turns to him in shock, mouth falling open.

 

“Come on.” Dan urges, shrugging.

 

Like it’s nothing at all. Like he’s asking Phil to lend him fifty pence for a chocolate bar, not snog him in front of all these people.

 

“ _What_?” Phil hisses at Dan, too angry, suddenly, to care about what anyone else might think about his tone.

 

“Don’t be such a prude, it won’t be that bad.” Dan says, smiling at him knowingly. “It’s a dare. Just let me kiss you.”

 

The familiar sour, bitter taste of fury stings the tip of Phil’s tongue, flooding his body, screeching Dan’s name as it rushes, unabashed, through his bloodstream.

 

How can Dan ask this? How can he _dare_? Phil wants to scream at him, he wants to grab him by the collar of his ugly patterned t-shirt and shake him until he sees sense, until he learns to fucking _think,_ or empathise, or demonstrate one measly likeable trait for once.

 

The room full of people surrounding them prevents him from doing any of this. Instead, he just stares at Dan, silent and seething. It’s in Dan’s best interest to say nothing more; Phil hopes he can sense that.

 

“I’m not kissing you.” Phil says slowly, trying to space the words out so that the _blatantly obvious_ reason why not might seep from between them and somehow fight its way into Dan’s thick skull.

 

Dan rolls his eyes, and Phil wants to punch him in the nose for it. “Phil-”

 

“Hey, if he doesn’t want to, then you’ll have to forfeit.” Cat interjects, her voice strangely hostile.

 

“Phil!” Dan cries, exasperated. “Don’t make me forfeit. It’s just a kiss!”

 

“Dan.” Phil warns, his expression hardened and cold. Every inch of his body aches, as though he’s just climbed a strenuous mountainside, or thrown himself down a flight of stone steps. Surely Dan can sense that pushing this is a bad idea. “I’m not kissing you. Stop asking me.”

 

Before Dan can respond, Phil gets up out of his chair in the guise of going to the fridge to get another drink. He hears a few muttered comments about his reaction, but he couldn’t care in the slightest. He needs to sit down somewhere quiet and dark, devoid of people.

 

He thought he’d been tired before, but after dealing with that utterly horrifying request, he feels completely drained. He’s never wanted to attend a party less in his life.

 

Why the fuck did that just happen? Why on earth would Dan put him through that? 

 

Without saying a word, Phil slinks off to the bathroom, locking himself inside and sitting on the lid of the toilet for a while, just trying to recover. Dan’s face fills his mind, blank of understanding, urging Phil to humiliate himself with a smile.

 

He always gets to be the likeable one. The reasonable one. The chilled one, the cool one, the funny one.

 

They’re a duo. Dan and Phil. Everything one of them is, the other is too. They’re the same person in so many ways. They have the same mannerisms, the same interests, the same opinions, the same way of speaking, of acting, of portraying themselves. 

 

But Dan presents the two of them to the rest of the world as his own version of good cop and bad cop. Dan is always the good cop: funny and likeable, easygoing and chilled, up for anything. And Phil is always, always his balancing bad cop: the party-pooper, the one who says no, the childish one, the ignorant one, the introvert, the one who clings on to a long-dormant spark of romance.

 

It's not fair. Phil never signed up to be the lesser half of some terrible double act. Dan uses him as a scapegoat, hides the parts he doesn't like about himself in Phil's personality, holding him up like a shield so that nobody will think Dan is anything less than perfect. 

 

Phil doesn’t return to the game for quite some time. By that time, the kissing dare has been forgotten. Cat has chosen truth, and is telling detailed, almost certainly embellished stories of her sexual exploits whilst sneaking several boastful glances at Dan, who avoids her eye.

 

Instead, Dan’s gaze bores into the side of Phil’s skull for the remainder of the game. Phil ignores him totally, sinking back into his chair to observe. He’s four bottles of Desperado down now, and he can already sense that he's going to need a lot more to get through the rest of the night.  

* * *

 

The Playlist Is Over party is pretty weird. A great deal of YouTubers are the type of people who never really got invited to many parties in the past, so the fact that they now get invited to these exclusive, glitzy events means it’s not unusual to see them go kind of off the rails.

 

It’s practically a given that there will be at least one random pair of unlikely partners making out in a darkened corner, so there’s sort of an unspoken rule amongst everyone invited that vlogging is not allowed.

 

Everyone’s pretty drunk, though Phil still feels annoyingly sober. His bad mood is reluctant to shift no matter how many drinks he orders. Annoyance from what happened earlier at predrinks with that kissing dare clings to him, limpet-like. Dan, on the other hand, seems to have moved on from it, if his brash, boisterous, drunken attitude is anything to go by.

 

Phil rolls his eyes as Dan talks loudly over Joey Graceffa’s anecdote, his arms flailing with a lack of control, spilling some of his drink in the process. Phil honestly cannot wait for this night to end.

 

“Oh my God,” Tyler gasps suddenly, making everyone turn to look his way, “is that Caspar and-”

 

“Don’t look directly at them.” Louise says quickly, giggling as she attempts to turn Tyler’s face away. “Pretend you never saw a thing.”

 

“Poor girl.” Joey says, laughing as he sneaks a look at the spectacle.

 

“Don’t worry, he’ll have moved onto someone else in five minutes.” Dan laughs, though his gaze sticks upon the Caspar and his conquest of the evening for a fraction of a second too long.

 

Unable to suppress his own curiosity, Phil glances over towards the furiously kissing couple, eyebrows raised slightly when he notices who Caspar has pinned there.

 

“Hope she brought some more lipstick with her.” Phil comments idly. “Looks like there’s a lot of tongue involved there.”

 

“Gross!” Tyler cries, chuckling. He sighs, wistfully. “It’s a shame though. Caspar is so hot, but such a bad kisser.”

 

“Oh, like you would know!” Louise giggles, shoving Tyler in the shoulder.

 

“Uh, I’ll have you know that in my fantasies, Caspar and I have exchanged several long, passionate kisses.” Tyler replies, grinning. “You too, Dan.”

 

Phil resists the urge to glare at Tyler as best he can. Dan just laughs, winking at him. “Hey, never say never.” Dan jokes, shrugging. “I’m pretty drunk. Besides, it’d be the most action I’ve gotten in months.”

 

Phil frowns, stomach twisting. Just how drunk is Dan right now? Is he wasted enough to spill a secret or two? If asked, would he let it slip just when the last time was that he received any ‘action’?

 

Perhaps Phil ought to step in, divert the conversation. He can’t be bothered, though. He’s too irritable and tired to waste energy hauling Dan out of any messes he gets himself into tonight.

 

Instead, he just sips his drink, watching.

 

“And to think, Phil!” Tyler cries theatrically, a hand slamming down onto Phil’s shoulder. “You could’ve been the one to end Dan’s dry spell in my room earlier. There’s still time, you know.”

 

Tyler winks at him conspiratorially, and Phil glowers. “Why do you want me to kiss Dan so much?”

 

“Um… two hot British boys kissing?” Tyler replies as if it’s obvious. “Who _wouldn’t_ wanna see that?”

 

“Whaddya think, Philly?” Dan says, his arm slinging round Phil’s shoulders as he leans close, grinning. “For Tyler's wank bank?”

 

Phil leans towards Dan, dodging out of the pathway of his alcohol-slick lips and leaning in towards his ear. “Fuck off.”

 

He vaguely registers Dan’s expression of surprise, but then Phil shrugs Dan’s arm off his shoulders, shoves his beer into Dan’s hand, and leaves the party.

 

He’s sick of these fucking fake things anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s scrolling through the hashtag #PlaylistLive on Twitter on his hotel bed. The sheets are cool and crisp beneath him; he’d left the air conditioner on before he left, and the room is frigid with cold.

 

It’s dark too, because Phil’s only switched on his bedside light. He barely notices either of these things though, he’s too focused on immersing himself in the Twitter-sphere as a means of distracting himself from what just occurred. Tweet after excited tweet passes before his tired eyes. He smiles very slightly at some of the comments from his lovely fans.

 

It’s a tad surprising how many of the tweets are about him. And Dan.

 

He’s so lucky to have this life, really.

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s unhappy, in the grand scheme of things. He’s got millions of fans, all of whom adore him, travel miles and pay hundreds of dollars to glimpse him for just a moment. He gets to be creative, and try new ideas every day, all whilst getting paid for it. He gets to do this with his best friend.

 

His fingers slip over the phone screen.

 

Suddenly, it vibrates in his hand, shocking him. He blinks at it, vaguely wondering if the thing has become sentient, but then Dan’s gormless face fills his screen.

 

Any other time, he might have smiled at the photo he took for Dan’s contact information. He remembers snapping the photo whilst they were bored, waiting at an airport somewhere. Dan had been grumpy and jetlagged, eager to get on the plane. He’d gotten himself into such a mood that he’d answer anything Phil asked him with something pissy and snide, even if it was an offer to get them both coffee or a snack.

 

So, being the great friend he is, Phil had decided to wind him up. If he was going to be a grump no matter what, it hardly mattered if Phil teased him or not.

 

Phil had brought up his iPhone camera, smiling to himself, and called Dan’s name. Dan had let out an exaggerated sigh, then turned to him, frowning, his eyelids half closed. The flash went off, taking Dan by surprise, and the end photo result was a true work of art, in Phil’s opinion.

 

The picture is extremely unflattering; the garish fluorescent airport lighting combined with the flash of the camera give Dan’s usually golden skin a pale, greasy shine. His eyelids are different levels of closed, obscuring the nut-brown of his eyes. His mouth is parted, and there’s a deep crease in his brow.

 

Phil loves the photograph more than any of Dan he’s ever taken in the past. Photos of Dan looking gorgeous are easy to come by. The internet posts thousands daily on Twitter and Tumblr and Instagram. But to own a truly horrendous photo of Dan is a rare privilege Phil feels that he’s earned.

 

To make things even better, as soon as Dan had realised just how awful that photo was, he’d lunged at Phil, trying with all his might to delete it. Phil, however, had held on tight, never letting Dan come close, though it took a great deal of bickering and wrestling with him in the posh business class lounge of that airport. Inevitably, after around five minutes, they’d both fallen into uncontrollable fits of laughter, earning themselves several glares and an unspoken warning from the cross staff not to fly with that airline again.

 

Phil stares at this same photo now. It used to make him smile whenever he saw it, reminded of this moment. Now he’s unmoved by it.

 

The vibrating is persistent though, and Phil sighs, swiping to answer Dan’s call.

 

He brings the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

 

“Damn, you are mad.” Dan voice says, giggling.

 

Phil rolls his eyes. So Dan is still drunk, then. He doesn’t know why he thought the boy would’ve sobered up at all. “What is it, Dan?”

 

“Where’d you go?” Dan asks, sounding a little whiny.

 

Okay wow, he’s really drunk, Phil thinks with surprise. After all, there are probably people near Dan right now, listening to him.

 

“Back to my room.” Phil says after a moment of deliberation.

 

“What?” Dan asks, clearly bewildered by this answer. “Why?”

 

“You know why.”

 

“Phiiiil.” Dan whines. There’s giggling in the background, unmistakeably Louise’s pitch. “Don’t be grumpy. We’re going out. Come back.”

 

“I don’t want to go out.” Phil tells him.

 

“No, no, you have to,” Dan continues, unfazed. Other voices fill Phil’s ears, almost drowning Dan’s out. “Come meet us, we’re um,” Dan says, “we’re in a- a lift…”

 

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. This is so exhausting. At this point he’s pretty sure that Louise and maybe several others are listening in on this call, but he doesn’t care, suddenly.

 

“I don’t want to be near you right now, Dan.” He says into the phone, his voice hard and unyielding. It’s far easier, he realises, to stay mad at Dan when he’s not in sight. “You pissed me off. You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

 

His words are met with silence. The relentless chatter quietens, and he feels the flush of embarrassment that's almost certainly pinkening Dan’s cheeks right now as if it were his own.

 

Despite feeling a little like a nasty teacher scolding a troublesome student, Phil is proud of himself for sticking to his guns for once. In fact, he doesn’t want to stop there. He might as well get this out now, while he’s feeling brave enough, after all.

 

“You think you can just go around hurting me forever because you can rely on the fact that I’ll always forgive you.” Phil continues, a fist squeezing his pounding heart. “You always get your way. But I’m not giving in this time. Do whatever you want; I’m staying here. Enjoy your night.”

 

He lifts the phone away from his ear, ready to hang up. Before he does, he hears Dan’s voice, far softer and more serious now, saying his name.

 

Phil grimaces at the phone, and presses ‘end call’.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s been ignoring all of Dan’s follow up calls, so it should really come as no great surprise when Phil hears a knock on his door. He debates not answering it, but a voice calls out.

 

“Phil?” It’s Dan. Of course it’s Dan. “Phil it’s me. Can you let me in?”

 

Sighing dramatically for the invisible audience of his empty hotel room, Phil heaves himself off the bed and walks, purposefully slowly, over to the door.

 

He opens it halfway, his expression hard. He wants to make it as clear as possible that Dan is not welcome inside right now.

 

The sight of Dan, standing with hunched shoulders and a guilty expression in the hall, however, makes Phil waver slightly. It’s a strain to keep up his cold, uninviting attitude.

 

“What is it, Dan?”

 

“Can I come in?” Dan asks straight away.

 

Phil wishes he were stronger, or firmer. He wishes he wasn’t so spineless and could just tell Dan to fuck off, or slam the door in his face. Instead, of course, he shrugs wordlessly, steps away from the door, but leaves it open. He crosses the room back over to the bed, berating himself for being so weak.

 

Dan slithers in quickly, shutting the door behind him like he’s afraid he’s about to be pushed out of it again. He stands awkwardly by the door, watching Phil sit on the bed, but making no move to join him.

 

“I’m sorry.” Dan blurts, and Phil rolls his eyes.

 

“Do you even know what you’re apologising for?” Phil asks, exasperated.

 

“For earlier.” Dan says hesitantly, all but wringing his hands. “With the kissing dare thing.”

 

Phil waits for him to elaborate, but he seems to think this is sufficient. “Do you understand why I’m upset about it?”

 

Dan swallows, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, because you didn’t want to kiss me, and I was trying to make you?”

 

Phil just sighs; he doesn’t get it. It figures, really. He barely cares about anyone except himself. Most of the time he has no idea what his words or actions mean, or how they affect other people.

 

“Dan… Please. Just go.” Phil sighs, turning from him and laying back on the bed. The soft sensation of the pillow meeting the back of his skull is almost enough to make Phil moan in ecstasy. He's so tired. “Catch up with the others. I don’t feel like hashing this out right now.”

 

“The others left.” Dan says quietly.

 

“Well that was stupid of you.” Phil snorts. “You could still get a taxi. Meet up with them wherever they are.”

 

Dan shifts again, leaning against the nearest wall. He shrugs. “I don’t really want to go out without you.”

 

The statement sends Phil into a momentary freewheel. He glances across, surprised, at Dan’s tipsy confession. Dan slides down the wall then, sitting against it with his knees drawn up to his chest like a kid. He looks miserable, Phil realises for the first time. He hadn’t really considered that Dan might actually be upset about this.

 

Phil’s heart aches for him, traitorously. Even when Dan is at his most irritating, at his most selfish and cruel, Phil can’t help wanting to soothe him. To hold him and brush away all of his troubles, to wrap him up away from the harshness of the world, and protect him.

 

Phil sighs, giving in. “Imagine you love someone, Dan.”

 

Dan’s head lifts from his knees, and he stares up at Phil like a small kitten, lost and afraid.

 

“Imagine you love someone so much that you’d do anything to have them.” Phil continues, turning his gaze away from Dan, because it’s more than likely he’d break down if he tried to maintain eye contact. “They’re all you can think about. But they don’t love you back.”

 

If Dan hears the crack in Phil’s voice, he doesn’t comment on it.

 

“You don’t tell anyone about it.” Phil says, his voice barely a whisper now. “You couldn’t bear to hear what they’d say. You wouldn’t be able to handle the pitying looks. The way they’d all talk about you when you weren’t there. It’d be mortifying for anyone to know how desperately you pine after a person who doesn’t want you.”

 

“Phil…” Dan tries to interrupt, but Phil ignores him, soldiering on.

 

“Then, one day, you’re playing a stupid game. All of your friends are playing too. They dare you to kiss the person you love while they all watch.” Phil sucks in a breath, each word more painful than the last. “And you _can’t_. You know that if you did, they’d all see it straight away. They’d see the shameful secret love you’ve hidden from them for so long. It’d be so obvious.”

 

Phil realises that tears are slipping out of his eyes now, but he lets them trickle past his temples onto the pillow beneath his head. Crying is just a part of his everyday life at this point. Especially when it comes to these sorts of conversations with Dan.

 

“So you say no to the game. You expect a little resistance from the others, but not from _him_.” Phil says, wondering if this is making any sense whatsoever at this point. “Because he knows how much it would hurt you to kiss him. He knows how much you love him. He knows it would be impossibly cruel to ask this of you.”

 

Phil hesitates then, summoning the courage from some long dormant well inside of himself in order to say this next part. “But when you refuse, he makes a fool out of you. He acts like he has no idea why you’re not up for it. He humiliates you in front of everyone-”

 

“Phil.” Dan interrupts; holy shit, when did he move so close? Phil blinks at Dan, who is now knelt beside the bed, leaning over him, eyes sparkling. “Phil, I should have backed you up, I know. I should have never tried to make you kiss me. I didn’t think. I never think. I’m sorry, okay?” A tear leaks out of Dan’s right eye, falling straight onto Phil’s cheek. “I’m a terrible person, Phil. Haven’t you realised that yet?”

 

Phil stares up at him, the anger starting to dissipate in his hot, stinging veins.

 

“Sometimes I hate you.” Phil confesses, eyes smarting as he struggles to keep them trained on Dan's.

 

“That’s okay,” Dan says, giving Phil a watery smile, “most of the time I hate me too.”

 

Phil doesn’t really think about it when he reaches up to place a hand on the back of Dan’s neck; Dan doesn’t even look surprised. Phil pulls him in easily, and Dan falls to him like he’s been expecting this from the moment he knocked on the door.

 

There’s a filmy layer of salt water between their lips, and Phil isn’t sure whose tears are whose. Dan’s breaths are warm, and his mouth is yielding and soft. Phil holds him there, but he probably needn’t have bothered, as it doesn’t feel much like Dan wants to move anyway.

 

It’s a little surprising when Dan climbs onto the bed, or more accurately, climbs onto Phil. He lies on top of him, fitting his legs between Phil’s with a bit of wriggling, barely stopping the kiss.

 

It takes a short while for Phil’s brain to catch up with what’s happening, but belatedly he realises that he’s _kissing Dan, on a bed_ , with no clear end in sight, and it’s March. His brain short circuits when he realises this, and his stupid, untameable heart surges with hope.

 

“I-I thought you said…” Phil mumbles as Dan presses their lips together over and over. “Th-that we can’t… Yesterday you said…”

 

“Don’t care what I said.” Dan replies, kissing him incessantly. “Wanna kiss you. Wanted to kiss you last night. Wanted to kiss you earlier in that game. Want to kiss you now.”

 

Phil is about to protest. He’s about argue that this is just typical Dan taking whatever he wants with no regard for anyone else, or the future. After all, Phil wants to kiss Dan literally every second of every day, but he’s not ‘allowed’.

 

This isn’t fair.

 

But the logic of his protestations is drowned out by the silken slide of Dan’s tongue over his lower lip. Dan’s thumbs run back and forth over his jaw, hands cradling his face. The heavy, glorious weight of Dan presses Phil down into the mattress, their bodies aligned perfectly.

 

All Phil can do is be kissed. All he can do is allow Dan to do as pleases, just like always.

 

He tries one last time, his voice feeble. “What about the rules?”

 

For a while, Phil assumes Dan isn’t going to reply. The kisses are heating up, literally. Phil feels like he’s about to die from the warmth of their bodies pressed together like this. He barely has moments to snatch breath between Dan’s kisses.

 

His body temperature is rising, his blood pumping furiously through his body, pooling in his groin. Dan wriggles and shifts on top of him, because he’s incapable of being still for a moment. As Dan attaches his mouth to Phil’s jaw, Phil wonders if, when Dan inevitably decides that he’s had enough of kissing Phil tonight, he’ll have to jump in a freezing cold shower.

 

Then, Dan whispers something into his ear. His voice is rough and wanton, stirring Phil into full hardness immediately. “Fuck the rules.”

 

Dan pushes his hips forwards, and Phil’s response – whatever the fuck it was – dies in his throat. He whines into Dan’s mouth, the sparks of pleasure that rebound through him entirely unexpected.

 

Dan kisses like he’ll die if he stops. Phil can’t keep up with him, he’s so frantic; Dan’s teeth catch hold of Phil’s lips, his tongue plunders Phil’s mouth as though searching for hidden depths.

 

His crotch grinds itself relentlessly into Phil’s; all Phil can do is cling to him.

 

At once, he can tell it’s all too much. They’re both fully clothed, and Dan’s not even using his hands, but Phil has had no time to prepare himself for this. It came out of nowhere, and it’s happening so fast, and Dan is so insistent, so desperate.

 

“Dan, Dan,” Phil pants, trying to warn him. “Slow down, I’m gonna-”

 

Instead of listening to him, Dan seems to do the opposite. He repositions himself, aligning their groins perfectly before grinding into him with fervour, letting out a low groan.

 

Fuck, it’s too much. Phil can feel how hard Dan is, even through his jeans. He can see Dan’s little shudders as the pleasure courses through him. Dan catches hold of Phil’s lip between his teeth, moaning softly into Phil’s mouth.

 

Phil lets his hands wander down Dan’s back until they’re gripping his bum, urging him onwards as he thrusts their erections against one another again and again.

 

Barely a minute passes before Phil approaches his climax, crying out in blissful agony as he comes, soaking through his underwear and trousers. Dan groans as he feels it, sucking at the skin below Phil’s ear, and it’s not long until he’s following in a similar direction. His frantic hip movements stutter and slow as the orgasm seizes hold of him.

 

Phil just holds him close, bewildered but warm with the afterglow of his own high. Dan finally stops shaking, collapsing on top of Phil, as limp as a rag doll.

 

Together, sticky and insufferably warm, pressed against each other, their breathing regulates itself. A few minutes of silence pass, punctuated only by their breaths.

 

Dan rolls off him, onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling, looking just as surprised as Phil at what just occurred.

 

“Fuck.” Dan whispers eventually, screwing his eyes shut.

 

Phil stares at him. “Yeah.”

 

“We broke the rules.” Dan says, sounding terrified.

 

Phil sighs. “Yeah.”

 

Dan turns to him, looking annoyed. “Is that all you have to say?”

 

Phil shrugs. “Yeah.”

 

Dan shoves him in the arm, then covers his face with his hands. “This is terrible.”

 

Honestly, in a fucked up sort of way, it’s cute how clueless Dan is about all of this. Phil smirks at the sight of him, then lets out a quiet chuckle.

 

“Why?”

 

Dan’s hands lift from his face. He looks at Phil as though he’s being an idiot.

 

“ _Why?_ Because the rules are the rules, Phil!” Dan exclaims, like it’s obvious. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

 

Phil shrugs. “You said it yourself. Fuck the rules.”

 

Dan scowls at him, sitting upright. “Don’t be a twat.”

 

“Didn’t know I was.”

 

“Are you being this infuriating on purpose?!” Dan suddenly yells. The anger in his voice isn’t even that surprising anymore. “This whole fucking thing falls apart if we don’t follow the rules, Phil, don’t you get that?! I would’ve thought that’d matter more to you seeing as you’re so madly in love with me or whatever.”

 

Phil tries not to let the obvious provocation get to him, but it’s difficult to ignore when it cuts so deeply. Dan really knows how to get under his skin.

 

He takes a deep breath before speaking, attempting to stay calm. Arguing will help nothing right now. “The rules don’t mean anything, Dan.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Of course they mean-”

 

“No.” Phil interrupts, raising his voice a little. He stares at Dan levelly, his gaze unwavering and sure. “You made them up. All they are is a bunch of scribbled instructions on a Pokémon sticky note stuck to our fridge.”

 

“So?” Dan protests, getting red in the face. “That doesn’t mean they don’t have _meaning._ They’re there to stop this whole thing from becoming crazy and unmanageable. They normalise it, keep it regulated-”

 

Phil barks a laugh, shaking his head. “ _Normalise_ it? Are you joking?”

 

Dan presses his lips together. “You know what I mean.”

 

“No,” Phil says truthfully. “I don’t. I have no idea what you mean, ever. I just do whatever you say. You make up all these ‘rules’ and find ways to justify everything that happens between us that doesn’t fit your ideal version of our relationship, and I just go along with it. But I don’t _care_ about the rules, Dan. I only follow them to keep you happy. They don’t mean anything to me. Because you can keep making more rules, and keep explaining everything away with arguments about how having sex twice a year is going to help us keep up appearances, or diffuse tension between us, but at the end of the day…” Phil pauses, shrugging. “In my view, there’s just you, and these inconvenient feelings I have for you, and me.”

 

Dan is silent in the face of Phil’s admission, seeming to chew on it for some time. “I don’t know how else to deal with it.” He says at last, sounding pained. “There have to be rules. Without them… what are we?”

 

“Let me put it this way, Dan.” Phil says, trying to be patient. “I don’t think you could call us just friends.”

 

Dan swallows, and Phil scoots to the edge of the bed, grimacing as he feels the sticky fabric of his underwear cling to his thighs.

 

He heads for the shower, not waiting around for Dan’s response, if he’s ever going to give one. When Phil emerges, towel-draped, in a cloud of steam, Dan is gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s up in the office, supposedly editing, but he hasn’t been able to concentrate on anything work related for around a week now. He stares out of the window instead, sipping coffee and thinking, as he does most of the time now, about a moment a few days earlier.

 

A moment when Dan had come into his room, brandishing the dreaded Pokémon sticky note that has come to embody all of Phil’s nightmares. The almost twenty-three-year-old had worn a look of determination, clearly intent on saying something that had been playing on his mind.

 

He’d sat himself down on Phil’s bed, looked Phil in the eyes and said:

 

“I don’t think we should have sex on my birthday.”

 

It had taken a minute for Phil to process Dan’s declaration, but eventually he’d gathered himself together enough to ask why. Dan had then explained, in what he probably thought was a rational way, that as they’d broken the rules at Playlist Live, they’d used up their Birthday Sex for Dan’s birthday.

 

In other words, due to their accidental drunken mistake, they now have to skip over the sex they would have had on Dan’s upcoming twenty-third.

 

"So..." Phil says slowly, trying to follow Dan's reasoning. "We both came in our pants after we drunkenly grinded on each other at Playlist and now... we can't have sex until next January?" 

 

Dan nods. "Basically, yeah." 

 

"Right." Phil says, nodding. "Not sure I follow."

 

"How come?"

 

"...Well, in what world would you class what we did at Playlist as sex?" 

 

Dan rolls his eyes. 

 

"We didn't even take our clothes off." Phil says in a strangled voice, struggling to keep a lid on his emotions now that he's learned just how long it will be before he's permitted to touch Dan again. 

 

"We kissed, and fooled around, and both..." Dan blushes, looking away. "Y'know."

 

Astounded as he is by Dan's illogical reasoning, he senses that talking Dan out of this is probably not going to happen. This madness is really stemming from a deep-rooted fear, and Phil has had no luck lessening Dan's commitment-phobia thus far, so he doesn't hold out much hope of curing it now. 

 

He decides, inevitably, that he's just got to accept his fate. If he goes along with Dan’s idea to abstain from sex on the 11th of this month, then according to Dan's form of insane rationalisation, things will return to normal afterwards. Following Dan's sexless twenty-third birthday, Dan explains to Phil, the two of them can slip back into the Birthday Sex routine that they’ve come to know, and by the time Phil’s next birthday rolls around, they can pretend nothing ever happened.

 

And, more importantly, Dan continues, by punishing themselves with no sex on Dan’s birthday, there will be strong motivation to never break the rules again.

 

Phil had barely known how to respond to Dan at the time of hearing all this. He has little more idea how to respond now, sitting at the PC with his moose hat on, staring out of the window.

 

Surely, his exhausted brain says to itself, _surely_ this has all gone too far now.

 

It’s not as if Dan’s insane ‘Birthday Sex’ plan made sense in the first place, but at this point it’s utterly ludicrous. There are more rules and regulations being introduced every time Phil blinks. He can’t see an end to any of this in sight, and he’s lost all concept of what he actually benefits from the situation.

 

The best thing for Phil to do at this point, for everyone involved, would be to put his foot down. To walk away without a backward glance, and never get himself embroiled in anything so ridiculous or destructive again.

 

Granted, if he did that, he’d probably always be in love with Dan. Obviously that wouldn’t be great, but if it meant he could stop torturing himself with this crazy scheme, it might be a reasonable price to pay.

 

Would it be worth severing all romantic ties with a boy who is clearly never going to love him back if it meant he could carve out a relatively normal, happy life?

 

Of course it would.

 

Could Phil ever cut those ties of his own accord, considering how deeply, irrevocably in love with Dan he is?

 

Almost certainly not.

 

A Birthday Sex-free life, though. It’s a nice daydream, even if it’s not a very hopeful possibility just now.

 

Phil sips his coffee again, wishing he had even a tiny bit more of a spine.

 

He casts his mind back to that same day that Dan told him he didn’t think they should have sex on his twenty-third. Because at the same time, Dan had also dropped another bomb shell.

 

He'd waited less than a minute for Phil to digest the no sex on his upcoming birthday information, then launched into the next reason for his visit to Phil's bedroom, posing a question whilst holding out the list of rules on the sticky note in his hand:

 

“What did you do with this note on the night of your party?” Dan asks. 

 

Phil blinks at him. He’s still reeling from everything Dan has just explained to him. These latest words take a while to filter into his brain. 

 

“What?” Phil asks.

 

“The night of your party.” Dan repeats patiently. “We accidentally left this up on the fridge, do you remember?” Dan says, sounding anxious.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Phil says, vaguely remembering having to tear it down mid-party before anyone saw. He chuckles, thinking about this. “That was a close call.”

 

“Yeah.” Dan says in a strange, thin voice. “So, what did you do with it after you took it down?”

 

Phil frowns, trying to place himself back in the tipsy haze he’d been in almost six months ago on his last birthday. “Can’t remember. I think I just put it in my pocket.”

 

“Are you sure?” Dan persists.

 

“Why?” Phil asks, sensing something amiss here. He frowns, thinking about this. “How’d you get it back, anyway?”

 

Phil glances down at the crumpled note in Dan’s hands, suddenly bewildered by it. He remembers taking it down from the fridge at the party thanks to Dan pointing out. He sort of remembers shoving it into his back pocket and forgetting about it. But what happened to it after that?

 

He hadn’t even registered it when it had appeared back on the fridge the following day. But he hadn’t stuck it up there. It must have been Dan.

 

How would Dan have got it back from him again unless he’d dug it out of Phil’s jeans himself? That’s pretty unlikely to have happened considering he passed out drunk in Phil’s bed on the night of that party.

 

Then, as he mulls it over, a cold realisation dawns on Phil, as vicious in its nature as an icy bucket of water being thrown over his head. His jaw drops.

 

“Someone found it.” It’s not a question.

 

Dan doesn’t reply, but his silence is telling enough.

 

“Oh my God.” Phil whispers, his heart thundering in his chest as the implications of this swarm to him in their thousands. “Who?”

 

A look of uncertainty passes over Dan’s features, as though he’s deliberating over whether or not to say. “PJ.”

 

And in that instant, it floods back to Phil in a rush. He’d been too anxious to continue partying with such an incriminating object in his back pocket that night. Dan had disappeared entirely with Bryony, so Phil had nobody with which to discuss what was to be done.

 

In a panic, his logic blurred by raspberry cider, he’d stuffed the note into a nearby candleholder next to a row of figurines on their mantelpiece. Then, of course, he’d promptly forgotten about it.

 

There’d been one instance of remembering later that night, when he’d seen PJ admiring the collectibles on that same mantelpiece and momentarily freaked out, but someone had distracted Phil before he could do anything about it.

 

PJ had obviously found the note. Fuck.

 

“Did he say anything to you?” Phil asks in a stricken voice.

 

Dan averts his eyes, not answering for a moment. “Not much.”

 

“But he knows?”

 

“Phil, it’s literally a list of rules dictating everything about this situation, I’m pretty sure he knows.”

 

Phil bites his lip. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah.” Dan replies.

 

“I’ll talk to him.” Phil says, only half sure that’s a good idea.

 

Dan fidgets, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he sighs, looks into Phil’s eyes for a moment, and then stands up, leaving the room.

 

The noise of cupboards banging downstairs shakes Phil from this memory, and he notes that Dan must have begun making dinner. He swallows, trying to think of ways he can avoid going down to eat with Dan tonight.

 

He comes up blank, as usual.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Phil,_

_Happy Birthday! So, I know I keep saying that I’m going to make this the ‘best birthday ever’, but let’s face it, I’m probably going to fuck it up somehow. That’s why I’m going to write down here, as proof, that my intentions were good._

_I have no idea why you still even talk to me, considering everything, but I know how lucky I am that you do. It’s not lost on me that everything that’s happened between us (even the really awful stuff) is kind of like an unbelievable fantasy of my former self._

_So, I’m sorry for inevitably getting pissy/jealous/annoying and ruining the celebration of the wonderful day you came into existence later. I’m sorry for being a grumpy asshole much of the time. I’m sorry that I never warned you that being friends with me would drag you into a horrific, inescapable shitstorm. I’m sorry for a lot of things - I’m sure you can guess what those are._

_When things get seriously bad, and you feel like you might really hate me this time, please read this card and remember that I do actually care about you a lot. More than anyone else in the world, if you can believe that._

_I really hope that somehow this is your best birthday ever and I can pull it off, because even that would still only be a millionth of what you deserve._

_Anyway, enough sap. Best birthday ever, bring it on._

_Dan x_

 

 

Phil rereads the card another time, his own blank card for Dan open in front of him. He keeps hoping that Dan’s rambly though somehow perfect words from his last birthday might inspire him. So far, he hasn’t even written Dan’s name.

 

He’s been deliberating over what to write for around half an hour now. He can’t get away with writing anything close to how he actually feels, because it wouldn’t be taken the same way. Dan would probably just find it annoying if Phil told him again (even in written form) just how much he adores him. It’s okay for Dan to do it, because Phil is perfectly aware that the message is platonic. But for Phil to do it is just inappropriate. It’s not like he isn’t well aware of the boundaries around their carefully ruled and regulated relationship.

 

He sighs, skimming over Dan’s birthday message once again. His heart aches a little every time he reads it. He loves this card. He clings to it with every last dreg of hope in his frail, battered soul. Can he really have meant it? Can it be true that Dan cares about Phil more than anyone else in the world? That seems mad, surely. It seems impossible.

 

Frustrated by his own inability to match Dan’s platonic-yet-heartfelt message, Phil tucks Dan’s card back into the book on his bedside. He picks up his pen and scrawls:

 

_Dear Dan,_

_Happy Birthday!!! Hope you get lots of cake and see many dogs._

_Your present is coming, I’ve ordered it!_

_Phil xx_

He draws a terrible bouncy castle with two stick-people jumping on it just underneath his words – a reference to one of their favourite jokes from The Mighty Boosh.

 

Dan will understand it. Before his stupid, love drenched heart can persuade him to write anything else, Phil stuffs the card into its envelope and seals it.

 

He sighs once it’s done. It’s not exactly going to be a thrill to open, but at least it’s something, Phil supposes. After all, he thinks with a frown, he’s not going to be giving Dan much else this birthday.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan’s birthday is going to be a no frills affair. He doesn’t want another party. He says okay to Phil inviting Bryony, Adam and Wirrow for a meal out in the evening to save face, but he insists on keeping it low key.

 

Bryony wants to bake Dan a cake, so Phil tells her via text to make it red velvet because that’s Dan’s favourite.

 

Dan and Phil head to the restaurant early, each of them quiet and awkward. They’ve spent most of the day in a shroud of reserved uncertainty, all too aware of the fact that usually they’d be engaging in, or at least thinking about, birthday sex.

 

Phil hadn’t woken Dan up this morning. Instead, he’d waited until Dan surfaced on his own – a stark contrast to how Dan woke him on his last birthday. Phil had grinned and said ‘happy birthday’ like he was supposed to, and Dan had pretended to be pleased. Phil made both of them tea and toast, and they sat on the sofa watching the anime they were currently binging on.

 

Phil tweets a happy birthday message for Dan that's so peppy and excitable that he's pretty sure it would be impossible for the phandom to suspect anything amiss. He even edits a weird photo of Dan he has on his phone from when they were testing the lighting for a video ages ago, and includes it in the tweet for the bants. He watches as Dan gets the notification for the tweet on his phone, giggling at the eye roll Dan gives him in response. 

 

"Thanks." Dan says sarcastically, but he's hiding a smile. 

 

At around midday, Phil gave Dan his card and present.

 

A look of surprise passed across Dan’s features when he was presented with gifts, but he didn’t protest, for which Phil was grateful. As Dan read the card, there was a moment wherein Phil thought he might have seen a flash of disappointment in Dan’s expression, but it was gone quickly.

 

Dan laughed at the Mighty Boosh joke, which was good.

 

Phil’s presents went down pretty well, as he knew they would. He'd made his choices impersonal but cool, just right for the occasion.

 

“A cocktail shaker!” Dan cries as he unwraps it. “That’s so cool. If only I knew how to make cocktails.”

 

“I can make a few.” Phil tells him, smiling. “I’ll make you a mojito later.”

 

“My favourite.”

 

“I know.”

 

The rest of the presents followed a similar alcohol-theme: syrups and a few mini bottles of spirits for the cocktails, then fancy margarita-flavoured popcorn.

 

“Hmm." Dan says suspiciously, turning the packet of popcorn over in his hands. "…Is that gonna be nice?” He asks with a smile, ever the sceptic. “Not so sure popcorn and alcohol mesh well…”

 

“Try it!” Phil urges, his cheeks beginning to ache with the effort it takes to keep smiling so wide.

 

Dan absolutely hates the popcorn. He retches after placing one kernel in his mouth, and Phil almost falls off the sofa laughing at him.

 

“That is _disgusting_.” Dan states, throwing the packet at Phil. “Try it.”

 

Phil sniffs it warily before placing one on his tongue, but finds that he actually enjoys the unusual flavour. It’s certainly intense, and the alcohol is coming through, but he quite likes it.

 

“You’re insane. That has ruined popcorn for me.” Dan tells him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Phil laughs some more at him, popping another kernel into his mouth. “Nothing could put me off popcorn.”

 

“It’s all yours then.” Dan says with a shudder.

 

Phil chuckles. “Happy birthday!”

 

Dan splutters, and then they lock eyes, back to remembering what the day is, and its implications. They stop laughing for a while. 

 

The rest of the day is spent milling about, doing nothing out of the ordinary. Phil answers emails and scrolls through Twitter for a few hours. He's mildly surprised when he gets a notification that Dan has tweeted, and frowns when he sees it. Dan's famous for his Eeyore-style melancholy, everything-is-doomed attitude, but to tweet something that comes off so apathetic and miserable, today of all days, is bound to cause some whispers. He ignores the tweet, telling himself it's no use dwelling, and distracts himself by confirming the plans for later with Bryony and the others.

 

When he runs out of things to do, he starts getting ready to leave. 

 

They wait at the bar at the restaurant because their table isn’t ready yet. Dan orders a mojito and makes a weak joke about using as a basis for comparison for Phil’s one later on.

 

Phil orders a margarita, because it seems appropriate now that he’s eaten half a packet of popcorn that flavour.

 

The drinks help diffuse the tense atmosphere a little, but not anywhere near enough. Phil stares into his empty glass once he’s finished it, trying to think of something to say.

 

“You look nice.” He says eventually, then wishes he hadn’t.

 

Dan does look good though, of course. Obviously, in Phil’s opinion, Dan pretty much always resembles a Godlike deity that some talented sculptor has carved into fine marble in to preserve his beauty. He can look inhumanly gorgeous sitting in his sofa crease, unwashed and in jogging bottoms, according to Phil.

 

But tonight he has dressed up, and Phil would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed how good he looks.

 

He wears a black designer t-shirt with an intricate silver design down one side, tight black jeans and a leather jacket. His hair is straightened, and his skin glows. In the low light of this fancy restaurant, he looks like a film star.

 

Dan watches him curiously, sipping his mojito. He shrugs. “Thanks.”

 

“This place is pretty fancy.” Phil comments, desperate to fill the silence somehow. He glances around at the opulent décor. It’s modern and chic, but obviously expensive. The floor is dark mahogany, broken up by little gushing rivers. Stone walkways and stepping-stones dictate how to move around them, which are probably a hazard if you’ve had one too many cocktails.

 

Phil can just see himself slipping in a clumsy haze, his foot landing straight in the clear water with a noisy splash as everyone looks on with scorn.

 

That’s just the sort of thing that would happen to him. “I’m definitely going to fall in one of those rivers.”

 

“Phil.” Dan says in a low voice, sounding unusually serious.

 

“Do you think the water is cold?” Phil asks, ignoring Dan despite his heart pounding at the tone of his voice. “Maybe I should warn the waitress how clumsy I am before she seats us. Then at least she’ll be prepared-”

 

“Phil.” Dan says again, evidently not paying attention to Phil’s dilemma about the little rivers. “Can we just talk about this?”

 

Phil swallows. He wishes he had another margarita. “About what?”

 

“I don’t have time to pretend I believe you don’t know what I mean.” Dan says impatiently. “The others will be here soon. We need to stop acting weird. It’s not just you, it’s both of us.”

 

“I’m not-” Phil starts to say, but Dan raises a hand to silence him.

 

“Humour me.” Dan says. “I know it’s weird. This is the first birthday either of us has had without having sex with the other in, what, five years?”

 

Phil doesn’t say anything. He plays with his napkin, avoiding Dan’s eyes.

 

“Of course it’s going to feel weird.” Dan acknowledges, drinking down a gulp of mojito. “But we have to act like everything’s normal. Bryony already knows too much, so does Adam. I’m guessing Wirrow isn’t clueless either considering he and Bry are practically one person at this point.”

 

“And now PJ knows.” Phil whispers, knuckles turning white as he scrunches up the napkin in his hand.

 

Dan takes a deep breath. “Yes. That’s a few too many people having too much information on our private situation, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Phil lifts his eyes to Dan’s, still wordless. He still hasn’t spoken with PJ about all this. He’s too afraid of what his close friend would say. It’s mortifying that Phil ever went along with this pathetic agreement Dan conjured up in the first place, let alone that he’s allowed it to continue for _five years_.

 

Christ, Phil thinks, staring into Dan’s eyes. Has it really been five years?

 

And now PJ knows. He knows how gross and pathetic and stupid Phil is, all because of his desperate obsession with Dan.

 

Phil sighs, trying to ready a response, but finds himself at a loss for words.

 

“Let’s not give anyone any more reason to speculate on us tonight, okay?” Dan asks when Phil’s brain fails him.

 

Phil nods distractedly at him, trying to catch the eye of a waiter. He needs another drink.

 

* * *

 

The others arrive at the restaurant at just after seven, brandishing enough gifts and cheer that Phil’s hopes for the evening lift a little.

 

“Dan, you look so old!” Bryony yells at a decibel far too loud for such a posh place.

 

It’s just funny though, how little she cares about that kind of thing. It’s something Phil loves about her; she’s not afraid to be herself, no matter the situation.

 

Dan stands to greet her, and Bryony wraps him in a hug, eager to see him. Phil watches Dan melt into her embrace with a mixture of jealousy and relief.

 

Dan’s being pretty normal and friendly so far, which is a good sign. Hopefully he’ll follow through on his promise to act like nothing is wrong.

 

Phil hugs Bryony next, then Wirrow, who whispers into Phil’s ear that he brought the cake along in a tin. He opens the carrier bag he’s holding to show Phil, who laughs and says they should probably wait until they’re back at the flat before breaking it out.

 

This place probably wouldn’t take too kindly to being made to sing Happy Birthday to a twenty-three year old and his friends.

 

Adam arrives shortly afterwards, and more hugs are exchanged; Phil had been surprised back in January when Dan had told him that Adam had completely forgiven Dan’s transgressions. But here he is, happy as ever on Dan’s next birthday, shoving a bottle of something pink and bubbly into Dan’s hands.

 

A waitress in a square cut, sleek, white dress approaches, and tells them in a low voice that she is here to take them to their table. Phil senses that this is because they are causing a bit of a noisy, raucous scene greeting one another in the bar, but it doesn’t matter.

 

Phil navigates the walkways carefully and manages not to fall in, which is a blessing. He sighs in relief once he gets to the pristine table, and Dan chuckles at him.

 

“Well done.” Dan says in a voice just loud enough for Phil to hear.

 

Phil laughs, thanking him, and for a moment, everything seems like it might just be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

Bryony and Wirrow give Dan a ‘birthday shirt’, which is glittery and covered entirely in multi-coloured sequins. He’s pretty tipsy by the time he opens it, so he declares that he loves it and heads into the bathroom of the restaurant there and then to change into it.

 

When he returns, he is both dazzling and hilarious to behold. The shirt then becomes the main topic of conversation over dinner, and Dan is all too happy to be the butt of every ‘pejazzled’, ‘showgirl’ and ‘glitterball’ joke thrown around for the evening.

 

All in all, the dinner could have gone worse, and Phil’s meal, though expensive, is pretty damn tasty. They all pitch in to pay for Dan, which Phil had been planning to do anyway, but is a nice touch from everyone else.

 

Dan thanks them all profusely, and they head back to the flat.

 

Earlier on, Phil had strung up the colourful ‘Happy Birthday’ banner Dan had bought him in January over the fireplace, and he’d given the living room a general tidy. It was pretty much assumed that Bryony and the others would come back here after the meal, as they’re all good friends.

 

Phil wouldn’t mind this under normal circumstances, but tonight he can’t help but wish time would move a little faster so that this day will be over quickly, and he can carry on living his sad, lonely but successful life until the following January.

 

They’re three games into Mario Kart when Phil remembers the cake Bryony made. He makes an excuse to leave the room, then mouths ‘cake’ at Wirrow until he notices and stands up, following him into the kitchen. The others are too absorbed in trying to beat Dan in the game (an impossible feat, Phil knows to his cost), and don’t notice.

 

Wirrow lifts the cake out of its tin with a flourish, and Phil marvels at it. Bryony has outdone herself once again. Cream cheese frosting covers the entire thing, there is a circle of red, glittery sprinkles around the edge. She’s even piped ‘Happy Birthday’ in sparkly blue icing.

 

Wirrow digs into the carrier bag that had been holding the tin, and pulls out two candles in the shape of a ‘2’ and a ‘3’. “Think he’ll like it?”

 

For some reason, Phil feels a little emotional. He nods, smiling. “Yeah.” He gazes down at the cake, knowing with complete certainty that Dan will love it with his whole heart. “Yeah, he will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil is starting to think that the Mario Kart theme tune is going to be permanently etched into his brain. He’s lost count of how many times he’s watched Yoshi, Peach, Mario, Bowser and Dan’s Mii zoom around the familiar zany circuits on their television screen. Dan has won every single time, and it doesn’t surprise Phil whatsoever.

 

He’s only ever beaten Dan once at Mario Kart, and Dan had been sick with the flu at the time. Even then, it had been a close call – Dan had still come in second, if he recalls.

 

It doesn’t matter to Phil anymore. He used to practise and practise, convinced that one day he’d match Dan’s skills, but now he’s grown used to the idea that he never will. It’s a far more pleasant experience to sit back and watch as Dan gleefully triumphs over and over again, showing off like the drama queen he is.

 

Sat here, two margaritas, three flutes of pink champagne and a rather strong homemade mojito later, Phil is finding Dan’s hideous competitive streak quite cute. He watches, smiling, as Dan selects the perfect moment to release a red shell, annihilating Bryony, who is playing as Princess Peach.

 

She squawks in dismay, cursing Dan for his ‘cheating’, but Dan only laughs at her, zooming across the finish line miles ahead of everyone else.

 

Phil goes to applaud him, but stops himself just in time, realising that would be really weird.

 

“So, anyone else wanna take me on?” Dan asks, grinning, searching everyone’s exhausted, mildly irritated faces.

 

“That’s a hell no from me.” Adam says, collapsing back against the sofa cushions, exhausted. “I’m beat. Think I’ll push off soon.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think I ever want to play you at anything ever again, Dan.” Bryony agrees, her head lolling against Wirrow’s shoulder. “No offense, but you are a nightmare.”

 

"You sound like Phil." Dan laughs, but looks a little disappointed that nobody will play.

 

Phil watches him place the controller down despondently, sighing. This isn’t right, he thinks, frowning. Dan looks sad, and it’s his birthday. Agreement or no agreement, it’s Phil’s job to keep Dan happy today, right?

 

“I’ll play.” Phil finds himself saying before he knows it.

 

Dan’s head whips round to him, eyebrows halfway up his forehead. He’s got a tiny bit of cream cheese frosting just above his lip, Phil notices, eyes honing in on it at once. He imagines himself licking it off, and then regrets it at once. A spark of arousal flickers in his belly, and he swears he can feel his own pupils dilating.

 

Damn it.

 

“Really?” Dan asks, sounding hopeful.

 

It takes Phil a second to remember what Dan is asking him, but then he does, and nods. “Sure.”

 

Dan grins, sitting up again.

 

“Thought you said you were never gonna play me again?” Dan reminds him, handing Phil the controller anyway.

 

“That’s all part of my ruse. I've been training in secret.” Phil says, winking. "You're going down, Danny."

 

Dan blushes, which is unexpected, but Phil supposes he’s probably a bit tipsy too.

 

Perhaps he could be in with a chance of winning, after all.

 

Dan selects the Animal Crossing track, which is Phil’s favourite. Phil isn’t sure whether this is a deliberate act of kindness on Dan’s part, or if it’s just random.

 

It doesn’t really matter either way, he supposes.

 

“Phil, if you beat him, I will bake you free unlimited cakes forever.” Bryony tells him seriously, her eyes wild with excitement.

 

Phil grins at her. “A great offer Bry, but don’t hold your breath. He's a maniac.”

 

“To be fair,” Dan says as the countdown begins on screen, “if anyone had a chance of beating me, it’d be Phil. He’s the best one out of you lot, by far.”

 

“Favouritism.” Adam scowls, but he’s clearly joking.

 

Phil side-eyes Dan curiously, wondering if he really means that. Dan doesn’t give out compliments easily when it comes to games, and Mario Kart in particular.

 

He hears a zwoom sound then from the TV, and realises that the race has begun. Yoshi is stationary at the starting line, staring ahead at the rest of the characters zooming off into the distance.

 

“Nooo!” Phil cries, frantically stabbing ‘2’ on his remote to make Yoshi move. “Damn it, Dan, you distracted me!”

 

Dan chuckles merrily, already at the front of the pack. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Despite Phil only playing for Dan’s benefit, and fully expecting to lose, the race is pretty tense. Everyone seated in the living room stops speaking, their breaths held as Phil gets the bullet, catching him up to second place, then a red shell, which he aims right into Dan’s tail end.

 

They’re neck and neck for almost the entire way around; Phil can’t quite believe it, but he dares to entertain the thought that he might actually beat Dan for once.

 

Dan is silent with concentration, his jaw tense and teeth gritted, hunched forwards towards the screen. He ignores everything but the game, totally immersed. They’re nearing the finish line now, and Dan is a short way ahead.

 

An item box dances into Phil’s path, and he collects a mushroom boost. It’s enough, he knows, to propel him forwards past Dan and across the finish line ahead of him.

 

He’s going to win.

 

He hears Dan’s sharp intake of breath as he registers Phil’s luck. Dan jabs his thumb harder into the accelerator button, though he knows it’s no use.

 

Phil’s index finger hovers over the ‘B’ button, ready to take the victory. Bryony is shouting at him to do it, Adam’s hand is on his shoulder, a silent urge.

 

Phil glances at Dan beside him, noticing the lip caught between his teeth, the look of strangled, desperate hopelessness in his eyes.

 

Dan wins.

 

The controller falls from Phil’s clumsy hands into his lap, and the button releasing the mushroom boost is never pressed. Dan shouts and jumps up when he realises he is victorious.

 

Everyone else in the room groans theatrically, bemoaning the once in a lifetime opportunity to smite Dan down at this game slipping through their grasp.

 

Phil tries to act disappointed, but he can’t stop smiling. Because Dan is smiling. He’s so happy. He’s dancing about, twirling the remote around his head, sticking his tongue out at Phil like a toddler.

 

He laughs at Dan’s merriment, just glad at the sight of it after so long, even if nobody else is.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when everyone’s gone, Dan and Phil are sat on the sofa together eating their third slice of red velvet cake of the evening. Dan scoops up a forkful, brings it to his face, sizing it up, then takes a deep breath before shoving it into his mouth.

 

He chews and swallows, looking almost pained at the effort it takes him, then groans deeply, shoving his plate at Phil.

 

“I’m defeated.” Dan whines, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “Please, take it away.”

 

Phil giggles at him, taking the plate and putting it, along with his own, on the coffee table. He leans back, gazing down at Dan with a fond smile.

 

“A valiant effort.” Phil tells him, licking frosting off his lips. “But ultimately no match for your fearsome competitor.”

 

Dan lifts his head a short way to look at Phil’s plate. His mouth falls open, seeing that it’s scraped clean. “How?”

 

Phil shrugs, sighing contentedly. “We all have our strengths, Daniel. You have Mario Kart, I have the ability to stuff myself full of desserts until I bleed cake batter.”

 

Dan snorts, his eyes fluttering closed. Phil has no idea what the time is, but he guesses it’s late. He’s feeling pretty sleepy after all the delicious cake and alcohol.

 

He won’t let himself drift off here, though. He hates falling asleep on the sofa.

 

To him, there’s no greater sign that one is failing at life than waking up blearily on one’s own sofa, lost in time, dried dribble on his chin, some kind of nature documentary playing in the background.

 

He yawns though, unable to stop the sleepiness from starting to cloud his thoughts.

 

“Speaking of,” Dan murmurs suddenly, his voice a lovely ripple in the otherwise calm post-party waters. “Why’d you let me win earlier?”

 

Phil lets out a chuckle. Of course Dan saw straight through him. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Dan’s eyes peel open, twinkling as they meet Phil’s. He smiles sweetly, holding Phil’s gaze for a fraction of a second too long.

 

God, Phil really wants to kiss him. His entire body is aching to just slip his hands around Dan’s waist and pull him in. To feel the younger boy curled up against his chest, one hand over his thrumming heart.

 

He wouldn’t even mind falling asleep on the sofa if he could just do that.

 

He realises he hasn’t taken his eyes off Dan as he thinks this, and averts his gaze quickly. Dan, however, keeps staring.

 

“Phil?” Dan asks in a tiny voice.

 

A hand moves onto Phil’s upper arm, lightly resting there. Phil turns to look at it, wondering what it could want.

 

“Phil?” Dan tries again, and this time Phil looks at him.

 

“Yes?”

 

Dan bites his lip. He leans in, pressing his chest against Phil’s side. Phil can see it coming, when Dan kisses him. Dan is tipsy and comfortable, and usually they’d be having sex right now.

 

He understands why Dan kisses him, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

 

Dan draws away from him after a few seconds, looking into Phil’s tortured eyes. Phil won’t touch him. Not unless he’s explicitly told it’s allowed, that he’s not breaking the rules.

 

He won’t risk being blamed for everything going wrong again. He would do anything to spare himself Dan’s wrath, or scorn.

 

“I don’t know why I did that.” Dan confesses, his expression just as tortured as Phil’s when he sinks back into the sofa cushions. “Sorry.”

 

If Dan himself doesn’t know why he did it, then Phil knows even less. He sighs, staring into space.

 

“Why don’t you want to be with me, Dan?”

 

At first, Phil isn’t sure who asked the question. He looks at Dan, confused, only to be met with a fearful expression. It dawns on him, horrifically, that the words came from his own mouth.

 

He inhales deeply, trying to suck them back in, but it’s too late. There they hang in the air between them, poisonous and dripping with horrendous consequences.

 

Dan doesn’t seem to know how to reply, and Phil almost wishes he’d just pretend he hadn’t heard. Another part of him though, a smaller, far more timid part, holds his tongue, waiting for Dan to answer.

 

It’s sado-masochistic to ask this, yet somehow Phil needs to know. He needs it spelled out for him, so he can stop clinging uselessly onto threadbare strands of hope that Dan kisses or smiles into existence every once in a while.

 

“You know why.” Dan whispers eventually, his voice so hoarse that Phil can barely make out the words.

 

Phil shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think I do.”

 

“I told you.” Dan protests weakly, his eyes begging Phil to stop. “When we first… when we ended things. I told you.”

 

“When we ended things.” Phil repeats, the words alien to his tongue. “You mean five years ago. When you told me you just wanted to be friends.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You told me that you got swept away in the idea of us.” Phil remembers, hands beginning to shake as the sickly, overwhelming dread of hearing those words the first time comes flooding back. “That you were too young to commit to someone. That you let yourself get carried away with things, and you should have ended things long ago to stop me getting hurt.”

 

“Yes, Phil, you don’t have to say it all over again-”

 

“There’s a problem with that, Dan.” Phil cuts him off, voice sharp. “You never actually did end things.”

 

Dan stares at him, seeming scared. “I broke up with you.”

 

“Did you?” Phil laughs, humourlessly. “Weird, because I don’t fuck any of my other exes every six months. I’m not still in love with any of them, either.”

 

“It’s not my fault that you’re in love with me.” Dan tries to argue, though he sounds like he doesn’t believe his own words.

 

“I’m talking about _you_ , Dan!” Phil cries out, wanting to jab him in the shoulder so he’ll see sense.

 

Dan blanches. “ _What?!”_

Phil doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. He’s said enough, at this point.

 

“Oh my God, is that what you think is happening here?” Dan asks, his voice caught halfway between anger and pity. “Phil, don’t you think it’d be a little bit mental of me to insist we stay broken up if I was still in love with you?”

 

Phil barks a laugh, running a hand through his own hair. “Yes. Now that you mention it, that would be a bit mental.”

 

Dan splutters in disbelief. “Phil-”

 

“Look, whatever.” Phil interrupts, sighing. He’s giving in, as he always does, surrendering to Dan’s poor excuse for an oppositional argument. “Forget it. You don’t love me, you never did, never will, blah blah. I’m tired and irritable. Forget I said anything.”

 

Dan is quiet for a moment; Phil puts his head in his hands.

 

“I didn’t say I never loved you.” Dan says quietly.

 

A weird sort of sob escapes from Phil’s throat without warning. It’s muffled slightly by his hands, but it’s still mortifying. Instead of sitting around, waiting for Dan’s pitying stares or words of commiseration, Phil heaves himself up off the sofa and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil only realises he’s been sitting on his bed, staring into space, when a knock on his door rattles him out of the trance. He sighs, really not up for another round, but sensing he has no choice.

 

At least he hasn’t been crying, for once.

 

“Come in.” He calls tiredly.

 

Dan opens the door with a timidity that doesn’t suit him. He takes stock of the scene before him with a perfunctory glance around the room.

 

When Dan’s gaze lands on the birthday card he gave Phil open on the bed, Phil doesn’t bother to make up an excuse. It’s fairly obvious why he’d been reading it, after all.

 

Dan swallows, grappling for words. “Sorry.”

 

It’s to the point, Phil supposes. He shrugs, nodding.

 

He doesn’t need to say it aloud; Dan knows that he’ll always be forgiven. “Me too.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Phil, you didn’t do anything.”

 

Phil shrugs again. “I made things awkward.”

 

“Things are awkward.” Dan says.

 

“It’ll be better once we’re back into the routine.” Phil says, though he doesn’t believe it for a second, and he’d be willing to bet Dan doesn’t have much more faith.

 

“Um, I think I’m gonna go to bed.” Dan tells Phil, though he makes no move to leave.

 

“Okay.”

 

Phil’s mind is already ahead of itself, wondering how long it will take him to fall asleep tonight, and how many times he will mull over the conversation he and Dan just had, twisting it around in his mind until it’s lost its original meaning.

 

“Can I sleep with you?” Dan blurts, hauling Phil out of his own head.

 

He stares at Dan, shocked.

 

“No sex, obviously.” Dan says hastily. “We said no sex this time. But like… I don’t want to leave things all unfinished and mixed up like this. Can I just stay in here? With you. We can just…”

 

Dan flounders for the words. It’s fascinating, watching Dan attempt to conjure these thin, feeble justifications for his desires out of thin air.

 

“You can say no.” Dan says, shaking his head. “I’m being a prat, aren’t I? Don’t worry-”

 

“You can sleep in here.” Phil tells him.

 

Without waiting for another response, he lifts himself up off the bed, then goes about changing into bedclothes. He strips off his clothes without bothering to hide his body from Dan.

 

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen plenty of times before, after all.

 

Once he’s ready for bed, he climbs under the covers, then looks up at Dan, who is still stood in the same place, watching him with wide eyes.

 

“Coming?” Phil prompts, eyebrows raised.

 

The word seems to stir Dan out of his trance, and he nods.

 

“I’ll just get into my pyjamas.” He mumbles, scurrying out of the room.

 

He’s back in under a minute, dressed in an old, off-white University of Manchester t-shirt and black boxers.

 

Phil lifts the covers for him to climb under, which he does, laying down on his back, staring rigidly at the ceiling. Phil shuffles down to lie next to him, and for a moment they just gaze up at the dormant lampshade above them, not speaking.

 

Then, Phil laughs. “This is so weird.”

 

Dan turns to stare at him for a few seconds, then joins in the laughter. “God, we are fucked up.”

 

“Mmm.” Phil agrees. He turns to Dan, sending a soft smile his way.

 

“Can we…” Dan hesitates, chewing his lip. “Do you think we could…”

 

“You want to cuddle?” Phil asks, an amused smile forming on his lips.

 

Dan chuckles softly. “Yeah.”

 

Phil sighs, opening his arms for Dan, who shuffles into them eagerly, burrowing against Phil’s chest. “So needy.”

 

Dan hits him in the side. “Fuck off.”

 

“You wish.”

 

“Aw, how did you know what I wished for when I blew out my candles?”

 

Phil hits him in the side then, chuckling. “I hate you.”

 

“Love you too.” Dan says sarcastically, then freezes in Phil’s arms.

 

Phil’s eyes widen slightly, but he forces himself not to react. It was a slip of the tongue, he tells himself. That’s all. A joke.

 

Three or four minutes pass, and Dan starts to relax again, apparently on board with the plan to pretend nothing just happened.

 

“Why do you do this?” Dan asks eventually with a despondent sigh. “Why do you put up with me and my insane rules and bouts of anger and literally nonsensical reasoning?”

 

“I’m in love with you.” Phil answers, deadpan.

 

Dan snorts at him. “Not what I meant, dingus.”

 

Phil chuckles, pressing his lips to the top of Dan’s head without really thinking about it. “I guess because I get to do this.”

 

Phil squeezes Dan a little tighter, demonstrating what he means by ‘this’. Dan moves backwards a little in order to look him in the face.

 

“But we’re not even doing anything.” Dan says, sounding perplexed. “I really thought that me saying we aren’t allowed to have sex this time was gonna be a dealbreaker for you. I was scared you wouldn’t say yes. That you’d wanna stop doing this.”

 

Phil laughs, shaking his head fondly. A little crease of confusion forms between Dan’s eyebrows; Phil just laughs even harder.

 

“Da-aan.” He says, drawing the name out into two syllables, pityingly.

 

“What?” Dan asks, slightly annoyed.

 

“It’s just…” Phil laughs again, wondering how he can explain. “It’s so weird how you can be this master manipulator, but at the same time be totally clueless.”

 

“Okay, I am neither of those things, thank you very much.” Dan says with a pout.

 

“Ahh, okay.” Phil nods. “So it should come as no surprise to you then, that I don’t really give a fuck about the birthday sex.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen, and he appears to be speechless. “You…” He swallows, looking afraid. “W-what?”

 

Phil smiles at him. “Sex with you is always going to be amazing, Dan. You know that, you’re there too. It’s pretty great.”

 

Dan chuckles, blushing faintly, and nods. “We’re pretty talented.”

 

“Practically world champions.” Phil agrees. “But even so, I’d probably say yes to this mad plan of yours even if there was no sex involved.” He pauses, registering Dan’s reaction. “Even if all I got out of it was two days a year where I get to be the centre of your attention. Where I get to cuddle you in my bed at the end of it. All I want, more than anything else, is to have you, Dan. I don’t care how, or in what way, or even if it’s only twice a year.”

 

Dan’s smile is disappearing. In its wake, a dreadful sorrow frosts his chocolate brown eyes. Phil closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at it; as soon as he does, he remembers just how tired he is. He can feel the sweet siren call of sleep luring him towards unconsciousness. With the heavy, familiar warmth of Dan in his arms, it’s all too easy to succumb to it.

 

Just as he slips away, he thinks he hears Dan say something else. In his dream, a monochrome bird of impossible height stands before him, wings outstretched, silhouetted against the multi-coloured, sequinned sky.

 

It opens its long, pointed beak, but instead of the piercing cry Phil expects, words spill out, in Dan’s voice.

 

They don’t make sense, in the context of the dream, but something inside of Phil lights up when he hears them, so he politely requests that the bird repeat them.

 

The bird flaps its wings once, beating a powerful, warm gust of air across Phil’s body. It opens its beak once more:

 

“You always have me.” The bird says again in Dan’s rich, velvety tone. “I’m always yours.”

 

 

(Art by Nova, aka manchesterz on Tumblr <3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Dan posts a photo of himself wearing a sparkly top in front of red velvet cake on his birthday  
> \- danisnotonfire (2014), "entranced by the beauty of red velvet" [Instagram], .
> 
> Dan posts a photobooth selfie  
> \- danisnotonfire (2014), "birthday iPad selfie" [Twitter], . 
> 
> Phil tweets Dan happy birthday and posts a weird photo of him  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "HAPPY BIRTHDAY @danisnotonfire !! I thought the internet would appreciate this supercool picture of you" [Twitter], .
> 
> Dan tweets an apathetic self-celebratory birthday message  
> \- danisnotonfire (2014), "happy birthday to me" [Twitter], .
> 
> Compilation of Cat, Louise, Tyler and Joey Graceffa's Playlist Live 2014 vlogs. Included are the following moments: Louise hinting at scandalous YouTuber hookups, Dan and Phil with Cat at Epcot, Dan apologising for being grumpy in Cat's vlogs, Everyone hanging out and drinking in Tyler's hotel room before the party, Dan and the others about to go out on the town after the party and Phil is conspicuously absent. Also, Dan is on the phone to someone at this point and I'm like 90% sure it was to Phil.  
> \- PewPhan, Catrific, Tyler Oakley, Joey Graceffa, SprinkleOfGlitter (2014), "Dan and Phil at Playlist Live 2014 | Part 2/2" [YouTube], . 
> 
> Phil talks about going out on Dan's birthday along with the gifts he'd bought him  
> \- Orly Knop (2014), "AmazingPhil - YouNow June 14, 2014" [YouTube], , 13:10.


	8. Phil's Twenty-Eighth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like scum on the surface of a pond, the bitterest of Dan's emotions tend to rise to the surface, suffocating anything trying to survive.

30th January, 2015 (Phil is 28)

 

_(Quite some time before Phil's birthday)_

 

_Ding!_

It’s the fifth time Dan’s heard that sound in under half an hour; his fingers tighten their grip around his glass of Ribena. Phil picks his phone up off of the arm of the sofa and looks at it, the corner of his mouth twitching. He taps out a reply, then sets the phone back down.

 

_Ding!_

Okay, now that’s six times. Not that Dan’s counting or anything. Surreptitiously, he watches Phil reply once again to the mystery texter, wondering who on earth it could be. He could ask, he supposes. But that would seem odd, and too invasive, probably. Phil can text whoever he likes, after all. Dan is by no means entitled to know who it is.

 

_Ding!_

Knowing that he’s only going to blurt out something weird and snappy if he stays here over-analysing the situation, Dan gets up off the sofa, taking his glass with him. Phil doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone screen as Dan crosses the room to the door.

 

He goes out into the kitchen, irritation sitting uncomfortably just beneath his skin. It's an all too familiar feeling, as of late. Phil’s mystery texts have been coming thick and fast for around some time now. They began shortly after they returned from LA from VidCon. Dan had spent the week after they'd gotten back to England in hibernation. It's not unusual for this to happen, by any means. Those YouTube conventions, while fun, are draining on the body and the mind. Not to mention, the bigger ones are on the other side of the world, which means jet lag is always a factor. He often spends days trying and failing to regulate his sleeping pattern after they're over, along with eating the entire contents of their kitchen.

 

It's been around three weeks since VidCon now, but Dan hasn't really gotten back into a regular routine just yet. He's still eating more or less at random, because Phil doesn't seem interested in cooking anymore, and Dan has always hated it. He makes meals for the two of them now and again of course, but nowhere near as often as Phil does, or did, before all this mad texting malarkey began.

 

As if to prove his own point, Dan pulls open a cupboard almost at random, rummaging for something he can find to chew on. He's not even very hungry right now, but he feels as though eating might help distract him from the prickly, unabating irritation each of those dings from Phil's phone gives him. 

 

In contrast to Dan's reaction after VidCon had ended, Phil had spent the week practically AWOL, and Dan had hardly seen him. If he wasn't in his room with the door closed, he was out of the flat for long, unexplained periods of time. Dan still doesn't know where he'd been going, and doesn't exactly feel that he can ask without sounding like a whiny, nagging other half. 

 

Which he certainly is not. 

 

Dan finds an open packet of salted pretzels on a high shelf, and peers inside suspiciously. He can’t remember when these were bought, nor can he recall having had a salted pretzel for many months, meaning these are probably not going to be fresh and delicious. Nevertheless, he digs his hand into the packet and brings out a handful, stuffing them into his mouth. He chews loudly and noisily, trying to drown out the relentless chatter of his brain.

 

Like, he doesn’t care who it is, texting Phil. It’s not like Phil has a plethora of friends, and certainly not many that Dan couldn't call his friends too, by now. Generally speaking, if Phil receives a text or a call, if it's not from Dan himself, it'll probably be either work-related, or it will be someone like Adam, or Bryony, or Hazel, or maybe PJ.

 

Dan wouldn't care if any of those people texted Phil. These are their friends, and Dan knows them all well. He knows that none of them pose a threat.

 

_A threat?_

 

Dan chokes briefly on a piece of pretzel, stunned by his own brain's choice of phrasing. A threat to whom, exactly? 

 

He drinks some Ribena to wash down the pretzel bits, and shakes his thought away, annoyed by it. It's honestly baffling, even to Dan, how his mind works sometimes. But regardless of that, he has to consider that the person texting Phil could very well be someone that he actually  _doesn't_ know. 

 

Not that that would change any level of 'threat' this person has, as there is simply nothing between Dan and Phil that could  _be_ threatened. Their Birthday Sex agreement is pretty rock solid, at present. The rules keep things in order, and Dan has felt no desire to pull out of the pact yet, as he still maintains that having sex with Phil twice a year does, for some reason, ease tension, and generally benefits both of them. 

 

Not to mention, of course, the sex is still fantastic. The best sex Dan has ever had, easily, to date. He hopes strongly that one day, when the Birthday Sex agreement is a fond but distant memory, that a new sexual partner will have blown Phil out of the water. Currently however, Phil still takes the crown. 

 

As for Phil's commitment to the pact, Dan is pretty certain that he’s gotten his hooks fairly deep into Phil Lester. There's not much room to be doubtful of Phil's feelings for him when each day he catches Phil staring at him wistfully, or saying something a little too sweet, or even just allowing Dan to get his own way for the umpteenth time. Phil isn't exactly thrilled about the whole of the Birthday Sex arrangement, as he's made all too clear over the years, but even so, Dan doubts there's a grave danger of him actually backing out of it.

 

Just as Dan does, admittedly, Phil craves the regular, bi-annual cheat days of their non-relationship, almost as a form of release for all the intense desire for Dan he keeps cooped up inside for most of the year. As well as this, Phil is probably all too aware that the destruction of the pact could very well rock the already unsteady base of their friendship. And Dan would bet a great deal of money that even if Phil could somehow live without the sex, there's no chance he would be able to function without Dan entirely.

 

And honestly, Dan feels exactly the same. He doesn't want to think about losing Phil altogether from his life, but if, for whatever reason, that happened - he's a thousand percent sure he would descend into the deepest, most hellish depression fathomable. He might never emerge from it, either. He laughs merrily when he sees how the subscribers 'kill' Phil off in their fanfiction, but in all honesty they have no idea how accurate those depictions probably are. Hopefully they'll never find out.

 

So, basically, whoever it is texting Phil, they're probably not going to be in with much of a chance at replacing Dan in Phil's life. Not that this person would have anything like that crazy of an intention. This is just Dan's mad, psychotic brain at work, predicting the very worst outcome before life can spit it at him. 

 

Dan munches down another handful of pretzels, sighing at himself. It's honestly exhausting, having his brain. And despite all his over-analysis, he's still no closer to figuring out who might be texting his best friend. 

 

_Ding!_

For fuck’s sake, he thinks, chewing louder. He can hear that bloody text tone through the wall.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan winces at the cringeworthy footage Phil is slicing up on the computer screen before him. Watching himself in other people’s videos is never easy for Dan, because he likes to have complete control of how he presents himself to the public. Usually Phil’s videos are okay, because Phil knows exactly how Dan likes the camera to be set up, and how bright the lights should be, and all Dan's best angles. In other words, he panders to Dan's stubborn insistences about video-making, so generally Dan doesn’t end up hating the sight of himself.

 

It's something Dan appreciates a lot about Phil, but also something he never really thinks about unless he does a collaboration video with someone else. A lot of other YouTubers that Dan has made videos with aren't so accommodating to his pedantic nature. It's always a relief, after those long, difficult negotiations with creators that don't share his views on the set-ups, to come back to doing a video with Phil again, which is, at this point, as natural as breathing.

 

The video of Phil’s that the two of them are editing now, however, is an unusual anomaly. Phil himself doesn't really care about how he comes across in videos, as long as it isn't vulgar or non-pc. He doesn't mind making a fool of himself to entertain his viewers, and while Dan might be known to do that on occasion too, he has to admit that his control-freak nature usually ensures he doesn't end up looking too horrendous.

 

This video, though, is becoming more and more catastrophically detrimental to Dan’s self esteem the longer he watches it. Apparently oblivious to Dan's reaction, Phil just snickers as he plays the final clip of himself pushing Dan into the pool.

 

“Dick.” Dan mutters, though he has to admit that he's smiling too.

 

“You look like a drowned iguana.” Phil says, chuckling, the video paused at the point where he and Dan are bobbing beside each other in the pool, a giant inflatable boat beside them.

 

“Yeah, and you look like a twat.” Dan counters, not very originally, he's aware. Phil laughs anyway, spinning in his chair to face him. Dan sighs, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He's exhausted; they've been editing this all day. “Those onesies stink of chlorine now." Dan complains. "Do we actually have to wear them again for my video?”

 

“Probably.” Phil answers, seeming largely unbothered. He sighs, stretching, and Dan watches him, eyes falling to where the hem of Phil's shirt lifts up, exposing a tiny bit of his tummy. “So, what do you think?" Phil asks, drawing Dan's eyes back up to safer territory. "Wanna watch it back one more time?”

 

“Ugh, if we must.” Dan agrees reluctantly, grimacing.

 

Just as Phil’s about to play the video from the start, his phone starts to ring. Dan rolls his eyes at Phil’s choice of ringtone – _Single Ladies_ by Beyoncé – and then takes the mouse from him.

 

Phil digs into his pocket for his phone and answers it. Dan skims through the video again, hunting for any mistakes or bits they’ve forgotten to edit out.

 

It’s so cringey, he thinks, watching his past-self attempt to walk across the pool surface in giant inflatable shoes, and promptly fall on his ass. Three times. If he had any sense, he wouldn't allow Phil to publish this dumb, degrading nonsense on his channel. Dan’s not even that fond of Krave. He prefers non-chocolatey cereal.

 

If he weren't getting paid for this advertisement, there's absolutely no way he'd attempt to flail across a swimming pool in blow up clogs for a taste of it. He rolls his eyes, berating himself for being so view-hungry.  

 

“Hello?” Phil says into his phone in the background of Dan's self-deprecative thought train. “Who is this?”

 

Dan sips the Ribena he made for himself earlier, waiting for Phil to finish the call so that they can finally finish editing this crappy, humiliating thing and send it out to maybe make them some goddamn money. As if that would make up for all that Krave put him through, he thinks bitterly, watching himself fall butt-first into the pool yet again. 

 

“Oh!” Phil exclaims, jumping a little in his seat. Dan glances at him; he’s gone all red and flustered. “Sorry, yeah I’ll just- hang on, let me just go somewhere…”

 

Phil meets Dan’s eyes for a split second, still red-faced, and then stands up quickly, heading for the door. Dan’s eyebrows raise in surprise; where on earth is he going? They’re in the middle of editing, he can't just wander off now. 

 

He's about to say this much aloud, phonecall or not, but before Phil gets to the door, he turns back and mouths ‘one sec’, a pleading, guilty expression on his face. Then he scurries out the door and down the stairs, leaving Dan staring after him, totally perplexed.

 

It must be that same mystery person, yet again. Well, Dan thinks, he has more of a right to be irritated about whoever this person is if they're interrupting his and Phil's work schedule. It's more than a little unusual for Phil to take any phone call in private from him. Phil doesn't get a lot of phone calls, and if he does, they're usually work-related, meaning that Dan is probably involved as well. More often than not, if he or Phil get a work call, they just put their phone on loudspeaker so that they don't have to repeat the information to the other. 

 

Even if Phil receives calls from friends or family, it's very rare that the conversation would be one that Dan couldn't follow along with just as easily. So, who on earth has phoned Phil, at this time, that has made him leave the room in such a hurry to have a secret conversation? 

 

The thought worms its way under Dan's skin until it's all he can think about. He must watch the video in front of him at least five times from start to finish without absorbing a single frame.

 

About fifteen minutes later, the heavy, ungraceful footfall of Dan's peculiar and annoyingly quiet best friend sound upon the stairs to the office. Phil re-emerges, his phone once again out of sight, as though nothing has just occurred.

 

“Sorry.” Phil mutters, taking his seat back beside Dan. There's still a faint blush colouring his cheeks, but his expression is far less tense and worried. Dan studies him wordlessly, searching for an explanation in his face. He could be imagining it, but Dan thinks he might be able to spot the remnants of a broad smile around the creases of Phil's mouth. “Where were we?”

 

Dan breathes out through his nose, his fingers curling around the ends of his armrests. Phil is clearly not going to give up the information Dan seeks willingly, or without some serious probing on Dan's part. Whoever this person is, calling and texting Phil, he's evidently intent on keeping their identity concealed for now. Dan shifts in his chair, debating what to do. He could ask, or demand to know who it is, but he would only come off as nosey or invasive. He has no right to know who Phil is talking to, and moreover, he has no logical reason to want to know.  

 

If Dan asks who it is, Phil will almost definitely ask him why he wishes to know so much. Dan doesn't have an answer, other than his brain is shouting at him to find out or it will drive him mad. 

 

To avoid what would undoubtedly be a tricky conversation to navigate if he were to ask, Dan decides that the best course of action is just to let this drop for now.

 

“You were gonna play it through.” Dan answers at last, and Phil's shoulders noticeably relieve of tension.

 

Phil nods. “Oh yeah. Okay. From the top then.”

 

Dan sits back in his seat, swivelling towards the screen. His on-screen self gives up trying to walk across in the ridiculous shoes, and instead capsizes Phil's boat, dragging him into the water to share the same fate. 

 

* * *

 

 

After this, the phone calls start coming every day. Phil exits the room swiftly each time, not always bothering to excuse himself to Dan. When he's not chattering away to whoever this person is, Phil is barely present anyway. Physically he is, going about his days as normal, editing videos and making too many coffees. But if Dan walks into a room now, Phil looks past him. A few months ago, Phil might have absent-mindedly made coffee for Dan at the same time as making himself one. Now, the thought doesn't seem to even occur.

 

It's hard to adjust to this new, odd version of Phil. The only way Dan is handling it is by telling himself it's temporary. That whoever is distracting him via his iPhone is stealing all of Phil's attention, leaving him with none to lavish upon Dan. And it's fine. Dan doesn't want Phil trailing around after him anyway, that's what he's always said from the start. 

 

It's a little weird to get used to Phil acting so indifferent towards him when he used to fall at his feet, but it's not an unwelcome change of pace. That's what Dan's brain tells him, anyway. The rest of his body is taking a little longer to catch up, and there's a sort of wounded sensation lingering in Dan's chest nowadays whenever Phil 'forgets' to make enough dinner for him as well, or watches the next episode of the anime they're binging on without him.  

 

But it's much healthier like this, Dan's brain says firmly. Independence is something they could both do with. They spend way too much time together as it is.

 

Anyway, Dan seriously doubts that all of this will be a permanent thing. Eventually, these calls and texts will stop, or Phil will tell Dan who it is, and there will be no more huge, ballooning secrets pushing them apart. Then things will return to how they always were, Dan expects. Phil will place Dan back in his spot as the centre of the galaxy, and continue to orbit around him, staring at him like he's a brilliant, life-giving sun.

 

No, it's not a healthy dynamic, but it's the one they know. Dan isn't exactly proud of himself for wanting Phil to treat him this way again, but after six years of knowing nothing else, it's hard to imagine anything else.

 

One night, they’re eating dinner that Dan made, and watching anime on the sofa. Phil seems distracted by something, as usual, and he plays with the food on his plate, barely actually bringing any of it to his mouth.

 

Dan is trying hard to ignore this. Try as he might, he still cannot fathom why Phil feels he can’t just share whatever's going on with him like normal. Dan can't remember the last time he kept a secret from Phil. He's pretty sure that Phil would struggle to remember something that he's failed to tell Dan at some point in the years they've known one another either. It's not that he and Phil sit around in their pyjamas every night having deep, intense, heart to heart's while braiding each other's hair. But he and Phil have spent almost every day in each other's company, aside from brief, two week maximum holidays. Not to mention, they used to be in a relationship. It's not that strange, therefore, that they know a great deal - if not almost everything - about one another's lives.

 

The idea of having secrets from the other is, in some ways, absurd. 

 

At least, that's what Dan might have said at one time. Now however, he's not so sure of himself. Phil has shunned Dan from something. He's left him on the periphery of a secret upon which Dan can only speculate. He wants so badly to just know what it could be, but it feels like he has to wait for Phil to tell him. He clearly doesn't want to, and that's scary in itself.

 

Is he worried about Dan's reaction? Should Dan be worried too? Dan has no idea what’s happening in Phil’s life.

 

As if summoned by Dan's terror, Phil’s phone bursts into life, and he jumps up to answer it. Dan scrambles for something to say, to delay Phil from leaving again, but nothing comes out. Oblivious, Phil leaves the room, not even bothering to ask Dan to pause the programme. Dan does it anyway. 

 

The lack of high-pitched, dreamy Japanese babbling leaves a stark silence. Dan's fork clinks against his bowl as he twirls some noodles around it. He realises, belatedly, that he can just about hear some snippets of what Phil is saying through the living room door.

 

His eyes widen, frozen to the sofa, trying not to make any noise so that he can listen. It sounds as though Phil is right outside, in the hallway.

 

“…hah…yeah…tomorrow night? Cool…”

 

Dan frowns. Tomorrow night? What does that mean? Tomorrow night is just a regular Thursday in Dan's eyes.

 

“…what? Oh, I’m okay thanks… what? No, I think the connection- hello?”

 

Uh oh, a bad connection, Dan thinks with barely concealed smugness. He lifts a forkful of noodles into his mouth. 

 

“Hello? Kevin? Are you still there?”

 

Dan stops chewing, eyes flicking to the door. Kevin?

 

“….don’t know if you can hear me... text you maybe. Bye!”

 

The silence falls again. Dan’s eyes stay fixed on the door, processing.

 

_Kevin._

 

The unfamiliar name resounds through his head like it's been struck with a gong. His brain reverberates with the aftershocks of hearing it, thrown entirely out of whack. 

 

Dan doesn’t know of anyone by that name.

 

Right then, the living room door swings open, and Phil walks back in. He glances at the TV, seeming vaguely surprised to find it on pause. 

 

"Sorry," he mutters, picking up his bowl of noodles again. "You didn't have to wait."

 

This time, Phil begins shovelling noodles into his mouth readily. He seems completely oblivious to Dan’s stare, or the fact that the anime is still paused in front of him. He just chews and swallows, his eyes glazed and fixed on a far off point in the distance. He’s not present, obviously. He's still back in his conversation with 'Kevin'.  

 

Dan doesn't mean to say it, but the word won't sit still and behave on his tongue. 

 

“Kevin?”

 

As if the sound of Dan's voice has stung him, Phil's head whips round to face Dan, a forkful of noodles halfway to his parted lips. His eyes look wide and fearful.

 

“What?” He asks timidly, lowering the bowl and fork. 

 

“Who’s Kevin?” Dan asks, straining with all his might to keep his voice casual.

 

Worried that his stare might be layering a level of intensity onto his words that he'd rather Phil didn't see, Dan averts his gaze. He turns back to the screen, where a sweet-looking anime girl is staring at him, her blue eyes sparkling. He realises that he has no idea of her name, as a character, nor any of the other people in the anime. He can't recall a storyline from the episode that's just been playing for twenty minutes. Honestly, he’d bet that Phil has no idea what the heck this anime is about either.

 

To make things seem less ferocious and awkward, Dan shoves a large forkful of noodles into his mouth. 

 

“A… a friend.” Phil says eventually, and Dan feels his fingers stiffen.

 

He can hear the lie on Phil’s tongue as clearly as if he'd said it was Winnie The Pooh calling.

 

Dan looks over at his friend, still chewing. He can see the discomfort and anxiety on Phil's face. It makes Dan’s heart race a little. Again, he tries to make sense of why on earth Phil feels like he can't tell Dan about this. He must believe, for some reason, that Dan will feel badly about it. 

 

“But Phil,” Dan tries, hoping to coax a little more out of him with some good old casual banter, “we don’t have any friends.”

 

It’s an old, worn joke of theirs. It started early on in their friendship, though Dan doesn't remember when. Nowadays, their social awkwardness and use of each other as a default collab-buddy is a huge part of their online personalities. It's a running gag in both of their videos, which means - like several other of their jokes - that it's lost virtually all of its humorous qualities. Nevertheless, Dan's got to try something here. 

 

Phil gives Dan a weak smile, but doesn't reply.

 

Dan suppresses the urge to groan in frustration. Getting this information out of Phil is like trying to suck a brick through a straw. “Is he a friend from uni?”

 

“Um,” Phil says, fidgeting, “no.”

 

As a last ditch effort to end this line of questioning, Phil gets up off the sofa and walks over to their lamp, which has a dead bulb. He fiddles with it, flicking the switch on and off, trying to ignite some life into it again. It doesn't work, obviously. Dan sighs at him; both of them know fully well that the bulb has died. It's just that neither of them have overcome their laziness to do anything about it, as of yet.

 

If there were ever a way to detect a desperate conversation escape attempt from Phil, it's seeing him do something as mundane as changing a lightbulb. Dan presses his lips together, wondering if Phil knows how transparent he's being, or if he even cares.

 

Steadfastly ignoring Dan's gaze, Phil begins unscrewing the bulb; at a loss, Dan picks up the remote, and presses play on the TV.

 

The anime girl shrieks, clutching her dark hair in anguish as a bead of sweat forms on her brow. Dan eats some more noodles, watching her.

 

"Same." He mutters under his breath. 

* * *

 

 

They’ve talked about making a gaming channel lots of times, but it always seemed like a fantasy, at least to Dan. In another, less weird and teenage-girl-dictated version of his professional life, Dan might be able to make profitable videos doing something he likes as much as playing Skyrim for hours on end.

 

But he’d chosen a different pathway long ago, at the start of his career, to be a storyteller. He modelled this decision largely on his inspiration, AmazingPhil, obviously, who told such epic, fantastical stories about battling fictional beasts and inventing snokoplasm that he gained followers as easily as breathing. 

 

All of that stuff just rattles around in Phil's head anyway, Dan's pretty sure. All Phil had to do was switch a camera on and let these mad, inventive tales come streaming out of his mouth. That, coupled with his masters degree in video editing, landed him a hit YouTube channel in virtually no time, with Dan as one of his many faithful fans. 

 

Dan's content isn't really a lot like Phil's, despite their videos having a similar structure. In contrast to all of Phil's whimsy, the subject matter of Dan’s videos tended to lean towards (hopefully) humorous reflections on his own shortcomings in life. With no particular great talents to speak of, Dan relies heavily on his own sarcasm and bitter sense of humour, which he uses to mock himself. His idea, at the start, had been that viewers might find something 'relatable' about what he says. 

 

Luckily, they did. 

 

So now, there are the two of them, side by side, systematically dominating their niche 'funny skits and storytelling' corner of YouTube. Dan, the cynic. Phil, the dreamer. The difference between them only seems to add to their charm. At least that's what the statistics tell them. After all, their collab videos are often amongst the most popular on YouTube; Dan's no expert, but he's pretty sure that the Photo Booth Challenge video they did wasn't enough of an innovative masterpiece to warrant a teen choice award nomination on its own - the fact it was chosen is unquestionably more to do with the yin-yang dynamic he and Phil share.

 

It's becoming glaringly obvious that the two of them could pretty much do any sort of collab at this point, and it would blow up. People _love_ watching he and Phil interact, which should have been obvious to them from the start. Phil Is Not On Fire was the kickoff point for their soaring careers, after all. 

 

So, while it's not always easy to collaborate, due to personal reasons and overall awkwardness behind the scenes, they wordlessly decide to make more collab videos, as that's what the viewers really want. It's Phil who suggests the gaming channel idea. Dan starts off hesitant, worried that the pressure of putting out such a steady stream of collab videos could be taxing on their already fraught friendship... but inevitably he surrenders to it. 

 

Playing games with Phil is something he does all the time anyway. Sure, they'll have to watch what they say and ham up their dynamic duo image, but that's something they have to do anyway when the camera is on. 

 

Their fans _love_ it. Some of them are hesitant at first, not sure if watching their favourite YouTubers try their hand at gaming is really what they signed up for. But most of Dan and Phil's subscribers are loyal to the point of obsession - willing to consume any content whatsoever as long as they can listen to Dan and Phil bicker and talk about stupid, irrelevant nonsense. 

 

Becoming a professional gamer turns out to be pretty time consuming. They have to buy special screen-recording equipment for starters, and getting used to using it isn't easy. Editing the videos turns out to be even harder than their usual content, and twice as long. They divvy up the editing between them, but it still takes hours, after which they're usually too exhausted to do anything except wolf down some dinner and fall into bed. 

 

Along with this, Dan forgets how slow and draining it is to build a fanbase from scratch. Okay, so not really from scratch per se, as loads of their subscribers jump over to the gaming channel as soon as they drop the bomb. But they still need to post at least one top-quality video a week to maintain a steady climb in subscribers.

 

Phil suggests they start a series, as that’s what most of the big gamers on YouTube do to ensure views, and thus, their Sims 4 series is born. They make a character that supposedly embodies both of them, and name him ‘Dil Howlter’.

 

He’s clumsy and silly in nature, like Phil, and moody and obsessed with his appearance, like Dan. They think, at the start, that they’ll get ten or so videos out of Dil, but the fans go wild for him. Dan sees the first fanart of Dan, Phil and their ‘son’ two hours after the first Sims video goes up.

 

People cosplay as him. There are fanfictions – or ‘phanfictions’, as their subscribers cleverly call them – written about him. It’s baffling to Dan, as ever, just how unpredictable their viewers can be in what they like most of Dan and Phil’s content. He'll take it, though. In a very, very peculiar sense, he does have a slight paternal instinct towards the sim, which baffles him. 

 

A few hours after they've posted their latest Sim video, a fan tweets Dan a particularly funny painting she's done of Dil, Dan and Phil all wearing versions of the outfits they’d picked for him in the beginning. The artwork is hilarious and incredible, so Dan 'likes' it at once, and makes up his mind to go and show Phil.

 

He heads into the lounge, a grin on his face, the picture up on his phone screen, but he stops short. Phil is on the sofa, his head lolled to one side, his mouth slack as he dreams. Dan rolls his eyes at Phil, tutting. He's left his laptop open on the coffee table, and is chrome-casting a song onto the TV on repeat. He appears to have fallen asleep listening to it. 

 

Frowning, Dan checks the time on his phone, and his eyes widen. It’s one in the morning, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

 

He yawns, as if noticing the time has reminded him of his own exhaustion. He watches Phil for a moment, smiling faintly at the peaceful expression on his best friend’s sleeping face.

 

He doesn’t know the name of the song that Phil is playing, but something deep down inside of him tells him it’s vaguely familiar. Quietly, he walks over to the coffee table to grab the remote, intending to turn it down, or off. He squints at the screen at the last minute, finding that he’s really enjoying the pleasant, soft rock, Morrissey-feel of it.

 

Ah, he thinks, it’s Joy Division. That’s why it’s so lovely.

 

The song is called _Love Will Tear Us Apart_. According to the album cover displayed, it’s on the Donnie Darko soundtrack, which is probably why Dan recognises it faintly. He and Phil watched that the other day.

 

It’s perhaps a little weird that Phil has been playing this on repeat, but whatever. Dan puts the remote down, then gingerly seats himself on the other end of the sofa to Phil, closing his eyes to listen.

 

Before long, there are tears in his eyes. This isn’t particularly unusual for him; he’s very easily moved by music or film or art of any sort. The lyrics to _Love Will Tear Us Apart_  are somewhat unexpectedly poignant, though. Particularly when Dan considers the implications of Phil, beside him, listening to them over and over until he fell asleep.

_Why is the bedroom so cold?_  
_You've turned away on your side._  
_Is my timing that flawed?_  
_Our respect runs so dry._  
_Yet there's still this appeal_  
_That we've kept through our lives._

“Love,” Dan sings along softly, as the track plays again from the start, “love will tear us apart, again.”

 

* * *

 

 

One day, Dan catches Phil sneaking out of the flat.

 

Well, not exactly ‘sneaking out’, as he’s perfectly allowed to come and go as he pleases, obviously. But regardless of this, when Dan sees him shrugging his coat on whilst he’s on his way to the bathroom, Phil wears a guilty expression, like he’s been caught.

 

“Off out?” Dan asks, mildly bemused.

 

It’s nine in the evening; Dan had been pondering ordering a pizza, and was about to seek out Phil to ask if he fancied getting in on it.

 

“Yeah.” Phil says, in a reluctant voice.

 

“Shop?” Dan asks.

 

“Uh,” Phil says, shifting from foot to foot, “no, I’m uh, meeting someone.”

 

“Oh.” Dan replies, nodding. “Cool.”

 

“No one you know.”

 

“Right.”

 

Dan dithers beside the bathroom; there is a flight of stairs between he and Phil, who stands at the bottom.

 

“So, I’ll see you later.” Phil says, clearly feeling awkward.

 

Dan can’t stop himself.

 

“Phil?”

 

Phil turns, again with reluctance. “Yeah?”

 

“Is it a date?”

 

Phil looks away from Dan’s stare immediately, and in that instant, the truth of this whole thing is startlingly apparent. The mystery texts and calls, Phil’s shifty behaviour, him staying out late and not telling Dan where he’s been.

 

Phil’s seeing someone.

 

The news, though not entirely unexpected, is a stab in the gut.

 

“I guess.” Phil admits eventually.

 

Dan imagines he must look pretty intimidating, up here at the top of the stairwell. He paces down a few steps, then stops in the middle, not sure of the protocol.

 

He doesn’t know what to say. He had to know, but now, in the face of it, he can’t think of a single response.

 

He supposes that, in many ways, he never thought Phil would actually have anyone else, romantically, while he still felt so strongly about Dan.

 

Unless he doesn’t feel so strongly anymore, a thin, awful voice at the back of Dan’s mind murmurs.

 

“Is it that Kevin guy?” Dan asks at last, already knowing the answer.

 

Phil nods, eyes darting left and right, seeking an escape from this conversation. He resembles a naughty school child, being told off by a teacher for getting caught doing something he shouldn’t.

 

And Dan kind of _wants_ to tell him off. But he’s more than aware that would be idiotic. Phil is doing absolutely nothing wrong here. He can date whomever he pleases, obviously.

 

“Cool.” Dan chokes out after a fair amount of force. “What’re you guys doing?”

 

Phil meets his eyes at last. His expression is unreadable.

 

“Seeing a film.”

 

“Nice. Anything good?”

 

Dan has no idea why he keeps asking questions. Phil is clearly eager to leave. He’s so uncomfortable, it’s wildly obvious. But Dan can’t seem to let him go.

 

“Birdman.”

 

“Oh, good choice.” Dan says with a smile. He descends the stairs a little further. “I really wanna see that.”

 

Phil shifts, clearly sensing an implication behind Dan’s words. “Yeah. Looks good.”

 

A prolonged silence ensues, and Dan doesn’t break it this time. A thousand other questions he could ask crop up in his head, but he forces them back down.

 

“I’d better go.” Phil says eventually, shrugging his coat on a little more. “Bye.”

 

Then he’s opening the front door, and before Dan can do anything, he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan doesn’t mean to wait up for him.

 

He just loses track of time. At least, that’s what he tells himself when his phone displays the time as 1:23am and he’s still on the sofa watching _The Office_ , listening for the sound of the door.

 

He sighs to himself, feeling pathetic, and opens Twitter on his phone for the hundredth time. He opens his ‘likes’ and looks through them, smiling weakly at some of the things he’s bookmarked.

 

He can’t concentrate on anything, though. He’s not an idiot. Films don’t finish this late at the cinema. Phil isn’t still watching a six-foot high image of Michael Keaton in one, long uncut take.

 

Whenever Dan considers what Phil is actually doing right now, he feels sick. He thought he’d be okay with the idea of Phil doing... whatever with someone else, but the reality of it is turning out to be kind of horrible.

 

Dan still isn’t sure why that is.

 

At last, there’s the faint sound of keys scraping the lock downstairs, and the tell tale creak of their door opening. Phil’s obviously trying to be quiet, easing the door shut without much noise, padding softly up the stairs.

 

Dan turns his attention back towards _The Office_ , trying to act as though he’s totally immersed. He’s purposefully left the door to the living room open, so there’s no way Phil won’t realise Dan is awake.

 

He hears Phil stop outside the door; Dan’s heart pounds in his ears. He feels sick again. Perhaps he’s got some kind of bug.

 

Slowly, Phil pokes his head around the door, and Dan turns to him.

 

“Hi.” Phil says softly.

 

Phil looks flighty, as though he was hoping to catch Dan fallen asleep on the sofa; that way he could have just slunk off to bed unnoticed.

 

“Hey.” Dan says, and Phil steps into the room, looking like he doesn’t know what else to do.

 

He’s still in his coat, and his shoes are still on, Dan notes, surveying him. His hands are reddened and cold from the air outside. It’s warm in here though; Dan had the fire on earlier.

 

Those fingers will thaw out soon.

 

“You’re up late.” Phil acknowledges, eyes flicking to the TV for a moment.

 

“Just staying on brand.” Dan quips, though neither of them smile. “How was the movie?”

 

“Good.” Phil says, nodding.

 

He’s watching the screen of the TV. It’s the moment where Dawn is holding a kissing booth at her desk, and Tim has wandered over to deposit a pound, bumbling and awkward as usual.

 

Dawn giggles at him, ignoring his protestations, and drags him forwards for a kiss, only for both of them to realise that it's by no means innocent. Their feelings for one another, though hidden normally, are all too apparent when their lips touch, even for the briefest of moments. They break apart, terrified by what they’ve just done, even if it was only for charity.

 

“It was um,” Phil continues, tearing his eyes from the screen. He sounds a little choked, “really good, yeah.”

 

Dan nods, stretching his lips in what he hopes resembles a smile. “I’ll have to go see it.”

 

“I’ll see it again with you if you want.” Phil says quickly.

 

Dan snorts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t put yourself out.”

 

A sad look wafts over Phil’s face, and he sighs. “I’m going to bed, then.”

 

Dan nods, not looking at him. “Night.”

 

There’s a moment before Phil turns to go, where he seems to be just looking at Dan. It seems to Dan, that he can feel the stare prickling his skin for hours after Phil leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

They’re in the taxi on the way home from the BBC, and Anaconda comes on the radio. Phil snorts, and Dan glances across the backseat at him.

 

“That song is ruined for me forever now.” He tells Dan, smiling.

 

Dan can’t help the answering smile creeping onto his face in return. “Are you thinking about that video?”

 

“Are you _not_ thinking about that video?” Phil replies, chuckling.

 

Not long ago, he and Phil had made a follow up video for Phil’s channel where they’d scrolled through fan posts on Tumblr. People had submitted creations under the hashtag ‘heyphillookatthis’. One such creation had been a short video, made up of clips of Dan and Phil at various moments, zooming into Phil’s crotch and Dan’s ass, all with the song ‘Anaconda’ playing over the top.

 

After a little contemplation, and a secret rewatch of the – admittedly hilarious – video, Dan had come to the conclusion that the phandom saw him as the ‘bottom’ when they contemplated his and Phil’s non-existent relationship.

 

He’s not entirely sure how he feels about being pigeon-holed this way, even now. Sure, okay, it might be true in a sense, but the fans don’t know that. How come Phil gives off this dominating ‘top’ air? All Phil does on camera is talk about food and funny animals. He doesn’t even swear.

 

“How come everyone is so convinced that I bottom for you?” Dan asks aloud, his voice more bitter than he intends it to be.

 

Phil laughs at him, sending him an unmistakably cheeky responding look.

 

“Yeah, I _know,_ ” Dan says, rolling his eyes, “but _they_ don’t know.”

 

“Clearly I just have an intimidatingly masculine air about me.” Phil jokes; Dan catches the perplexed frown of the cabbie in the rearview mirror, and blushes.

 

“Right.” Dan says dryly. “But seriously, I could totally be a top.”

 

Again, Phil smirks at him, clearly very amused. “Oh yeah, absolutely.”

 

Dan reaches over and shoves Phil in the shoulder. “Shut up, I _could_!”

 

Phil descends into a fit of giggling at Dan’s reaction, but then he straightens, looking at Dan seriously. “Is that… something you want?”

 

Dan flushes, dismayed. Fuck, why did he bring this up with Phil of all people? 

 

“N-no.” Dan says, turning to look out of the window. “I... like things how they are. I think it’d feel weird if I did that with…” Dan stops himself before he says ‘you’. “A guy. It’d be too much like it is if I was with a girl.”

 

The cab jolts suddenly, and Dan looks into the front seat, finding that the cab driver has gone an interesting shade of red. His foot probably slipped off the pedal, Dan thinks, hiding a smile.

 

“Meh.” Phil shrugs, drawing something into the condensation on his window. “Have you ever tried it?”

 

“No,” Dan admits. “Don’t really fancy it though.”

 

It’s true, as well. The idea of switching roles has never appealed to Dan when he considers sex with boys. He wonders if, in Phil’s eyes, Dan is more adventurous than in reality. After all, Dan has only slept with four people, and out of those, only one was a guy.

 

That guy is Phil.

 

He definitely, one hundred percent has no desire to change anything about the way he and Phil have sex, which is basically why he thought up the Birthday Sex thing in the first place.

 

He just wants regular, reliable, amazing sex on their birthdays, exactly how it’s always been, for as long as possible.

 

Sure, it might be fun to experiment with topping Phil, but considering that they only get to do it every once in a blue moon, Dan’s not really interested in taking the risk. He loves every single aspect of sex with Phil, but especially having Phil inside of him.

 

Thinking of it, now, in the black, leathery, slightly cool back seat of a taxi, Dan feels himself growing warm. He swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, and forces his brain to dwell on something other than the sensation of Phil sliding into him.

 

Suddenly, it occurs to Dan that although he’s not all that adventurous, sexually speaking, he knows very little about Phil.

 

Phil isn’t exactly one to share that sort of thing, especially unprompted, and when they were together, Dan hadn’t wanted to know. Phil had been his first love, his first time with a boy, his first truly meaningful sexual experience.

 

The idea that Phil, who was much older and likely more experienced, would have had all of his firsts with someone different – possibly several someones – really didn’t sit well with young, jealous, possessive, eighteen-year-old Dan.

 

“Have you ever tried... not topping?” Dan asks, ignoring the fact that this hot, incensed jealous nature still burns within him, despite he and Phil having broken up years ago.

 

Phil smirks, which is unlike him. “Yeah.”

 

It’s such a vague, breezy answer, but it’s enough to set Dan’s mind freewheeling. His constructed image of the mysterious ‘Kevin’ swims into Dan’s head, grinning as he pins Phil to the bed, rutting on top of him.

 

In Dan’s imagination, Kevin is unspeakably attractive. He knows this is likely to be untrue, and that Kevin is probably just an average guy, but his mind has always been cruel to him. Dan’s version of Kevin is chiselled and model-like in appearance. He has the build of a Nordic warrior, with ice blue eyes and thick blonde hair, which waves perfectly atop his strong, high-cheekboned face.

 

Dan thinks of him gripping Phil with his large, beefy arms, and pinning him to a wall or surface. He imagines thick, unchapped lips skimming the pale skin lining Phil’s throat.

 

Would Kevin be gentle, or rough? Would he care enough to seek out Phil’s most sensitive places, or would he be selfish? Does he have kinks, and does Phil indulge them?

 

The questions pelt Dan from left to right, and he shuts his eyes tightly, trying to will them away.

 

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, sounding weirded out.

 

Oh, right. He’s not on his own right now. He can’t go around behaving like a total maniac, even if it is only Phil and the cab driver who will see him.

 

He looks at Phil, holding his gaze to try and regulate the pounding of his heart.

 

Fuck his overactive imagination.

 

“Yeah,” Dan says, swallowing, “sorry, got all dizzy for a sec.”

 

Phil’s expression melts into one of concern. He reaches out a hand towards him, then stops short at the last second, drawing it back into his lap.

 

“We’re nearly home.” Phil says in a soft, kind voice. “Not much longer now.”

 

* * *

 

 

It starts with one little glass of wine, because it’s Sunday and his week has been rough. He needs to relax, so he pours himself some rosé and goes to watch telly for a while.

 

On Friday, for the first time in a long time, Phil didn’t come home until morning. Dan had stayed up waiting for him again, though he’d tried to talk himself out of it.

 

But no keys were inserted into the lock, and the door never opened, and there were no reassuring plods up the stairs. Dan had stayed up until five in the morning, which is bad, even for him.

 

After that, he’d accepted that Phil was obviously not coming home that night, and slunk off to his room, bone tired. He barely even remembers getting into bed, but that’s where he awoke at twelve the next day, bleary-eyed and exhausted, to the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen.

 

Dan wishes he could say that he’d played it cool, and that Phil never realised Dan had stayed up waiting, and that he’d managed to act like everything was fine.

 

But he’d texted Phil four times throughout the course of the night.

 

 **From: Dan**  
To: Phil  
01:02am  
Hey, where are u?

 

Dan had known exactly where he was, of course. Phil had told him he was meeting Kevin before he left.

 

 **From: Dan**  
To: Phil  
01:33am  
Are you coming home?

 

 **From: Dan**  
To: Phil  
01:47am  
Want me to leave the lights on for you?

 

Dan cringes at the thought of this one; it’s so obvious that he couldn’t think of any other reason to text him at this point.

 

Luckily, for whatever reason, this seemed to be the text that prompted Phil’s eventual response.

 

 **From: Phil**  
To: Dan  
01:50am  
No that’s ok. Not sure when I’ll  
be back – dw I’ve got my keys.

 

 **From: Dan**  
To: Phil  
01:51am  
Be safe x

 

Dan hadn’t received another response. He never heard when Phil eventually got in the next morning, and when Dan got up to see him, Phil had been evasive about where he’d been.

 

So now it’s Sunday, and Dan hasn’t really recovered. He sips his wine and watches _Come Dine With Me_ , a rerun that he’s already seen thanks to binge-watching anything and everything he could find to entertain himself on Friday night.

 

He’s very aware that Phil is not sat beside him.

 

After a while, Dan’s wine glass is empty, and Phil walks into the living room. He barely glances at Dan, and just picks up his glasses from the dining room table.

 

“I’m going out.” Phil announces.

 

Dan doesn’t know if it’s the wine, or the fact that all of Phil’s recent behaviour has been building his irritation to a volcanic level for some time now, but he snaps.

 

He throws out a harsh glare at his best friend, and growls, “Didn’t get enough of Kevin’s cock on Friday?”

 

Phil’s mouth falls open, and he stares at Dan, rooted to the floor in shock. Dan has to admit, even he wasn’t expecting to say something quite so vulgar.

 

Phil seems to be at a loss for words, and Dan doesn’t blame him. He has no idea where to go from here either.

 

After a long, unbearable silence, Phil sighs, sounding exasperated. “Do you have something to say, Dan?”

 

“Oh, several things.” Dan replies.

 

“Go on then.”

 

Phil seems suddenly calm, his shoulders drooping of tension, regarding Dan with one eyebrow raised. It’s infuriating to behold, as though Dan is a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum, and Phil is the level-headed adult forced to be subjected to it.

 

“Don’t stand there and judge me.” Dan snarls, jabbing a finger at him. “I think it’s perfectly reasonable to be pissed off with you considering you spent all of Friday night out fuck knows where doing fuck knows what and didn’t even text me-”

 

“I did!” Phil exclaims, pulling out his phone as though he’s about to prove it.

 

Dan bats his protest out of the air with one hand. “Yeah, after I sent you like three texts asking where you were!”

 

“But like,” Phil says, sounding frustrated, “why should I have to text you? Why do you have to know?”

 

“You don’t _have_ to text me, Phil,” Dan grumbles, glaring, “don’t make me sound like a desperate housewife. But considering you don’t exactly make a habit of staying out all night, I think it’s fairly reasonable for me to be concerned-”

 

“I told you where I was!” Phil counters, looking incredulous. “I said I was at Kevin’s!”

 

“No, you said you were _with_ Kevin.” Dan corrects, and Phil looks exasperatedly at him.

 

“What’s the difference?”

 

“Well, if you were _at_ Kevin’s, maybe I would’ve assumed you were staying there,” Dan says, very aware that he’s more or less making this up as he goes, but he can’t seem to stop, “but as you said you were just _with_ Kevin, you could have been at a bar or at the cinema, or _anywhere_ seeing as you never fucking tell me anymore. You didn't say you weren't going to come home. Anything could’ve happened to you, what was I supposed to think?”

 

“You aren't supposed to think anything.” Phil says, shaking his head.

 

"What?"

 

"It shouldn't matter to you where I am." Phil says, his eyes sorrowful as he stares at Dan. "I'm twenty-seven. We aren't together. I can do things without you knowing." 

 

“Whatever,” Dan growls, “I was worried about you and you’re acting like I’m being crazy about it.”

 

Phil fixes him with a hard stare. “You _are_ being crazy about it!”

 

Dan scoffs, turning from him. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were in my position.”

 

“No, probably not.” Phil agrees, taking Dan by surprise. “Because I’m in love with you. Everything I do is dictated by how it’s going to make you feel. I worry about you all the time. And if it was _you_ dating someone else, I sure as fuck would make up crazy things to start arguments about.”

 

“Oh my God, are you seriously going on about this again?” Dan asks, laughing to himself, though it takes some effort. “I’m not in love with you!”

 

The idea of it is so absurd, honestly. Dan won’t even entertain the thought. He broke up with Phil years ago because he wasn't sure he actually loved him anymore, and became terrified of getting trapped in an unhappy relationship that far exceeded his level of maturity.

 

At the end, he was convinced that the only thing he felt towards Phil was platonic love. Some lust too, which gave birth to the Birthday Sex agreement. Maybe he loved Phil romantically once, but he'd lost it somewhere along the way. He'd bullied the feelings out of himself as soon as he felt the pressures of society telling him it was wrong. He'd forced the love to become something else, something more sexually-driven, something more like close friendship, something less intense and terrifying; that's how it's been ever since. 

 

He's not in love with Phil anymore. His self-deprecative soul would never let himself be.

 

Phil shakes his head at Dan, lips pressed together. “So, I guess it's not a big deal to you that I’m going to ask Kevin to stay over tonight, right?”

 

A weird, lightning strike of nausea flashes through the epicentre of Dan’s body, churning up the acids in his stomach. Bile claws its way up Dan's throat, and he swallows thickly, feeling it burn his insides. He shrugs dramatically, sure he'll be sick if he tries to speak. He pulls out his phone and turns his attention to the Tumblr app, hoping Phil won’t notice anything amiss.

 

He doesn’t notice Phil has left the room until he hears the door slam downstairs.

 

"I don't love him." Dan says softly to himself, scrolling through his dashboard. "I don't."

 

* * *

 

 

Stupid fucking Phil and his stupid fucking Kevin.

 

Dan grimaces, squinting hard at the stream of wine he’s shakily pouring into his glass. He’s had to open a second bottle, as the first seemed to have disappeared rather quickly.

 

He’s moved on to red wine now, which he hates, but it's all that's left. A distant Uncle had gifted it to Dan a few Christmases ago. The bottle has been sitting in a cupboard, untouched, for quite some time now, but Dan doesn’t really think it matters – wine only gets better with age, after all. That's what he's heard people say, anyway. 

 

Some droplets of crimson liquid speck the linoleum floor as Dan stumbles out of the kitchen again, but he doesn’t think about it. He’ll wipe them up later.

 

It’s a little bit more worrying when he spills some on the rug in the lounge, but it’s barely even noticeable, so he pays it no mind. He sips the wine, expecting a sour, bitter taste and a dry feeling on his tongue, but surprisingly it’s going down smoother than expected.

 

He drinks a little more, his mind whirling once again towards Phil and their conversation a little earlier on. A lot of unpleasantries had been exchanged, but one thing sticks out to Dan like a sore thumb: Phil is going to bring Kevin back here tonight.

 

At last, Dan will be able to see the Norse God with his own two eyes. Not that he probably looks anything like how Dan has imagined him, but still. He sips more wine, then opens his laptop and opens Spotify, chrome-casting his ‘Getting Drunk Alone’ playlist.

 

It’s a private playlist, obviously. If his fans found that he’d be in serious trouble.

 

Kevin will probably be very likeable, Dan thinks to himself. If Phil is interested in him, he's got to have at least some good qualities. Perhaps he and Dan will get along really well, and the three of them can become a trio. A clique, even. Dan smiles at the idea.

 

Why hasn’t Phil offered to introduce Dan to Kevin before this point? 

 

“I’m a creep…” Dan sings along to Radiohead, “I’m a weirdo…”

 

He realises he just inadvertently answered his own question and barks out a laugh. It's unnervingly true. 

 

Dan can imagine fantasy scenarios of he and Kevin becoming besties all he likes, but he knows that it's far more probably that he'll react badly somehow. The unpredictable nature of his own jealousy doesn't make sense even to Dan himself. Trying to handle Dan in tricky situations like this one must be exhausting for Phil, not to mention incredibly nerve-wracking. Like handling a live grenade. 

 

Sure, it  _might_ be fine.  _Potentially_ Dan will act completely normally, and greet Kevin with warmth and a friendly disposition. But it's just as likely that the sight of Kevin, arm linked with Phil's, sidling into their lives without Dan's express permission will be enough to dislodge the pin, and the grenade will go off. 

 

He could easily see himself blowing up at Kevin. And Phil. 

 

He hates that he's so hot-headed. He hates that the mere thought of anyone getting too close to Phil turns him into a monster. It doesn't make any sense. Phil doesn't belong to him. 

 

 _Creep_ continues playing as Dan thinks this, solidifying his own suspicions that he is, in fact, too much of a freakshow for Phil to even consider introducing him to a potential partner right now. It's no wonder, really. After how he acted towards Adam - poor, undeserving Adam - a while ago, Phil has every right to exercise caution. Dan lolls his head back onto the sofa cushion, sighing.

 

He drinks another gulp of wine. He wonders what Phil and Kevin are doing right now.

 

He pictures Phil's cute laugh, his tongue pressed lightly against his upper teeth as he giggles at something Kevin is saying.

 

Maybe Kevin’s really funny. Maybe he’s gorgeous and hilarious and confident in his sexuality. Maybe he’s an incredible multi-instrumentalist with perfect pitch and years of experience. Maybe he knows exactly how to dress for his body type, and is never concerned about his weight because he never eats too much pizza or snacks on year-old pretzels at two in the morning.

 

Maybe Kevin is sweet, and a great cook, and has a high-paying, reliable, normal job doing something he loves. Maybe he’s never boring, and has tons of interesting hobbies. Maybe he’s fantastic at blowjobs and has no gag reflex. Maybe he can tell Phil that he loves him without any doubt in his mind. 

 

Maybe he’s literally everything Dan isn’t.

 

Dan stands up suddenly, wiping some sort of moisture away from his eyes. He’s not sure where it came from, as he’s sure he can’t have been crying. That’d be stupid.

 

What the hell would he be crying for?

 

He doesn’t _want_ Phil.

 

He wanted him once, sure, but it was just infatuation. He’s not gay, and yeah, okay, maybe Phil is kind of an exception, but only because the sex is so good, and Phil was his first time with a boy.

 

Dan doesn’t want the other stuff that goes along with it, the stuff that Phil wants. He _doesn't._ He doesn’t want to hold Phil’s hand in the backs of taxi’s, or curl up against him on the sofa while they watch their favourite TV shows. 

 

He sure as hell doesn’t miss Phil’s arms around him in the dead of night, when he’d wake up expecting to be alone, like always. He doesn’t miss the secret, knowing looks they’d share when they were in public, or the flutter of his heart when Phil would sneak a subtle comment about their sex life into conversation with friends.

 

He doesn’t ever wish that Phil would just do something mad and reckless like he had at Playlist that time, and just grab hold of Dan and kiss him. He doesn’t lie awake every time he hears Phil crying next door. He doesn't pin his own limbs to his mattress and screw his eyes shut as he listens, forcing himself to stay in bed and not go to him, even though it nearly kills him every single time.

 

Dan is crying now.

 

Either that, or the droplets spilling on the rug beneath his toes are wine that he’s somehow turned to water in a reverse-Jesus miracle.

 

He takes a huge gulp of wine, noticing that it’s nearly all gone. In a sudden fit of frustration over his own stunted, traitorous, confusing emotions, he hurls the glass to the floor.

 

It smashes on impact, obviously. Shards fly everywhere, because the floor is wooden, and Dan really should have thought this through. He’s barefoot, and so drunk the room is swaying.

 

 _“I wish I was special,”_ Thom York croons at Dan, burning the lump in his throat, “ _you’re so fucking special.”_

 

Phil is so fucking special.

 

None of this is fair. Why couldn’t Phil have been someone else? Someone ordinary and boring? It would have been so much easier to get over him entirely and move on if he’d just been… someone. 

 

But he’s not someone, he’s Phil, the literal other half of Dan’s poor excuse for a soul. He’s not stupid, he’s not _blind,_ he knows that he and Phil fit together a bit too well for their meeting to be considered just a stroke of luck.

 

Out of all the people subscribed to Phil, why did he notice Dan? What were the chances of it? Why did Phil fall so hopelessly for someone so much younger, and sadder, with no direction or ambition to speak of?

 

Dan preaches to everyone that will listen that all of this ‘destiny’ and ‘fate’ stuff is complete bollocks, but even he’s lost for an explanation when he considers the staggering improbability of him meeting someone so incredibly perfect for him amongst a sea of thousands.

 

Dan couldn’t have dreamed up a better person to share his life with if he'd tried.

 

Sure, Phil is annoying and he leaves the kitchen cupboards open. He’s messy and eats everything. He’s passive to the point where he actively ignores arguments, instead preferring to let everything stew and get worse.

 

He can be childish, and he can be petulant. He mopes around after Dan like a lost puppy, and never misses an opportunity to make him feel so guilty that Dan often thinks he might die from it.

 

But despite all of this, Phil is still perfect for Dan.

 

It’d be stupid to argue with that, when it’s so obvious that their millions of subscribers can all see it as plain as day.

 

Radiohead finishes playing, and Dan steps towards his laptop, wanting to play it again. He forgets that the floor is covered in broken glass. His right foot lands on top of what’s left of the stem, and he cries out in pain as it crunches underneath. He can feel the shards still digging into his soft skin; blood immediately begins pouring from the wound, dribbling onto the wooden floor, swimming into the cracks between the floorboards.

 

Dan stumbles backwards at the shock of it all, and falls messily onto the floor, his hand landing straight on top of another large shard. This one slices a gash across his palm, and he shrieks, cursing loudly as he cradles the hand to his chest. Two hopeless tears slip down his cheeks.

 

He’s far too drunk to try and stand up again, he can tell. Even with his eyes shut he feels like he's just stumbled off of a fairground ride, dizzy and disoriented. Trying to make it into the bathroom or kitchen to find a plaster or two right now would be reckless of him. He'd only injure himself even more. It’s pathetic, how he got himself into this situation, but he’s just going to have to sit here on the floor until he sobers up a bit. Then, once he feels a little steadier, he can go and sort himself out.

 

Gingerly, he unfurls his fist to inspect the gash on his hand. It hurts like a motherfucker, and it's bleeding a lot. Crimson drips onto his jeans, invisible against the black material, which is something at least. Dan bites his lip, cringing at the sight of the cut. He tries moving his hurt foot to see it better, but as the glass went in to the underside, he's unable to bend his leg to get a decent look. His foot hurts more than his hand, though. He can feel that there’s still glass in it, which worries him. But there's not a lot he can do about it right now. Hopefully the glass will staunch the bleeding, like he's seen on TV. 

 

Resigning himself to fifteen minutes or so of solitary reflection on his own stupidity, Dan buries his face into his knees, breathing heavily as he tries to ignore the pain. The song that's playing ends, and the next track starts up, making Dan want to sob. He hugs his knees with his unhurt hand, tearily, and listens to someone who is probably all too familiar with hearing Dan cry.

 

“I got troubled thoughts and a self esteem to match…” Patrick sings in his rich, gorgeous vibrato. “What a catch… what a catch…”

 

* * *

 

 

Dan couldn’t tell you how much time he spends on the floor of the lounge before Phil finds him.

 

He doesn’t even hear Phil come in, but then he's kneeling in front of Dan, a terrified expression on his face, a hand on each of Dan’s shoulders.

 

“Dan?” Phil’s shouting. “Dan?”

 

He might’ve been shouting it for a while, Dan really couldn’t tell you.

 

Behind Phil, over by the door of the lounge, lurks another boy, tall and well-built. His shoulders are broad, and he’s got a short, dark beard. He wears a beanie hat on his head, and beneath that, a quietly shocked expression.

 

Dan stares at this stranger blearily, wondering if he’s imagining him.

 

“Who’s that?” Dan asks aloud, surprised by the husky nature of his own voice.

 

The relief on Phil’s face upon hearing him speak is very confusing. “Oh my God, Dan,” Phil says, his head falling forwards; he sounds wrecked. “Thank fuck. What the hell? What the hell are you doing?”

 

“So this is Dan.” The boy in the corner says, a slight smirk twisting his lips. He steps into the middle of the room, his big, heavy boots crunching broken glass as he gets closer. “Had a few too many, mate?”

 

Phil glances over his shoulder at the boy, which means that Dan probably isn’t imagining him. A good sign.

 

“Sorry, Kev,” Phil says, though he doesn’t sound it, “I didn’t realise… I don’t know what’s…”

 

“Kevin!” Dan exclaims suddenly, everything clicking into place.

 

This man is Kevin. Dan looks him over again, laughing a little. He looks nothing like a Nordic Angel, or whatever Dan had thought initially. He looks startlingly ordinary, in fact.

 

He’s sort of handsome, in a lumberjacky sort of way. He's got a big, squarish jaw and thick eyebrows. There are little creases around his small brown eyes; his smile, which seems to be permanently on his lips, is an attractive quality. 

 

The beanie hat is old and worn, as though he's not often without it. It suits him, without a doubt, but beneath it Dan can see some dark brown tufts of hair, which probably suit him too. Dan’s eyes flick to Kevin’s broad chest, over which he's stretched a faded blue t-shirt with a ‘Welcome To Twin Peaks’ logo on the front. He doesn't look as though he's hiding chiselled abs, but he's not in bad shape either. 

 

His arms have some muscle, and his jeans wrap around thick, strong thighs. He’s not as tall as Dan and Phil are, but not far off either. Overall, he seems a little hipster-ish, masculine, but with something warm about him. It would be easy to think of him as a safety net, if you needed one, Dan thinks, wondering how many times Phil has been wrapped in his sturdy arms. 

 

Kevin walks a little closer, resting his hand on Phil's shoulder in what appears to be reassurance. He grins down at Dan, who is still on the floor, Phil crouched before him.

 

“That’s me.” Kevin confirms, chuckling. He extends a hand towards Dan, which Dan goes to grab. Just before they meet, Kevin snatches his hand backwards, startled. “Woah!” Kevin exclaims. “Uh, maybe not right now, eh buddy?”

 

Dan watches him in bewilderment, then flicks his gaze down to his hand. It's flaked with dried blood up to the wrist, and still dripping more. If he wriggles his fingers, he can feel the squelch of wetness between the lines in his palm.

 

Dan draws his hand back into his lap, continuing instead to just stare up at Kevin. He's trying to work out what exactly it is about him that has captured Phil’s attention. Sure, he's fairly attractive. He seems perfectly nice and friendly, and from his laughter lines, along with the way he's handling the situation, Dan reckons he's got a decent sense of humour to boot. But try as he might, Dan can’t see anything _special_ about him. Nothing shiny that would catch Phil Lester's magpie-like sixth sense for the odd and magical.  

 

He just seems like an ordinary man. 

 

“Dan, fucking hell, that looks bad,” Phil whispers, reaching to take hold of Dan’s injured hand with a tenderness that surprises him, “let me get you up away from all this broken glass and-”

 

Dan jabs his other hand towards Kevin, the not-bleeding one. “I’m Dan.”

 

Kevin smiles; Phil looks worried. He shoots Kevin a look that Dan doesn't understand. 

 

“Is that right?” Kevin asks after a moment, politely shaking Dan’s uninjured hand. He has to bend down to do it, his wide shoulders hunching forwards as he leans towards Dan, as though they're about to conspire. “I’m Dan too, sometimes." Kevin says quietly, winking at him. "When this one’s a bit too drunk or lost in the moment.”

 

He inclines his head towards Phil, who flushes and scowls. Dan tries to follow along with what Kevin means, but he can't. His mind is mush, and his hand is searing with pain. He remembers that he's hurt his foot too, but that appears to have gone numb for now. He can't feel any pain in it, anyway.

 

Without warning, Phil drops Dan's hurt hand and stands up, taking hold of Kevin's upper arm and ushering him out of the room. Dan watches them leave in a daze, not knowing what to do. He doesn't have to wonder for long. A minute passes, maybe a little more, and then Phil comes back into the room; this time, Kevin isn’t with him.

 

Dan watches Phil wordlessly as he comes over, slips an arm around Dan’s waist and hauls him upright. It must take a fair bit of strength, because Dan is more or less unable to move his own limbs right now, but Phil manages it somehow.

 

He doesn't speak to Dan, and Dan doesn't try to make him.

 

Once they're both upright, there's a moment where Phil doesn’t seem to know how to get Dan across the room. Dan sweeps his gaze over the floor, reminding himself that it's still covered in broken glass and wine stains. He thinks about his bare feet, worriedly.

 

Then, he hears a sigh from Phil, and suddenly his legs are no longer touching the floor. Phil's arm knocks into the back of his knees, swooping him up into a bridal carry. Dan yelps, clinging to Phil, but he doesn’t struggle. He has total trust in Phil, even if it seems kind of impossible that he'd have anywhere near the strength to lift Dan up after so many years, and so many pizzas, which all now reside in Dan's hips and thighs.

 

As Phil steps them both carefully across the floor, his shoes protecting him from injuries, Dan's brain hauls out a memory of the last time he was in this position, back in Phil’s room in Rossendale, on his twenty-third birthday. The context of that situation had been a lot different then. Less blood, for one thing.

 

They make it to the sofa, and Phil places him down gently, trying not to jostle his wounded areas. He untangles Dan's hands from where they've wound themselves around Phil's neck, and leans away, standing upright again. He looks exhausted. Dan doesn't think it's from lifting him up.

 

“Stay here.” Phil instructs, though Dan has no intention of trying to move himself. “I’m gonna get some stuff to fix you up. Don’t try and cross the room until I get back.”

 

Dan nods, silently adding on that he hasn’t the energy anyway. Phil returns first with a dustpan and brush, and sets about sweeping up all the glass. Dan watches him without comment, just marvelling at how careful and sure he is about getting every last shard.

 

After that's done, Phil leaves the room again, coming back with a Tesco carrier bag, a bowl of water, a clean cloth, some bandages Dan didn’t even know they owned, and a bottle of micellar water.

 

“I'll be Brock.” Dan slurs, smiling at him. "You be Nurse Joy." 

 

Phil looks him in the eye, but says nothing. He just sits down on the floor beside the sofa, and takes hold of Dan's injured foot. 

 

Phil sucks in a breath through his teeth as he surveys the damage. He places it back down carefully, then reaches for Dan's hand. After some close inspection, Phil bites his lip, looking upset. He doesn't let go of Dan's hand. 

 

“Dan, what have you done to yourself?” Phil asks. 

 

Dan scoffs at him. “I didn’t do it on _purpose_ , did I?”

 

Phil looks up at him, eyes positively tortured, and it occurs to Dan for the first time that it might have looked to Phil very much like he _had._

 

He imagines Phil walking into the lounge, seeing Dan barely conscious, sitting in a pile of broken glass and blood. Oh God, Dan thinks, face draining of colour. What must have been going through Phil’s mind?

 

Phil, who readily admits at any given opportunity that he is so in love with Dan that it's all he can think about. He loves Dan with every ounce of his being, and has even said, once, that he will probably never stop.

 

If he had thought, for one moment, that Dan might have done something stupid or reckless... what must he have gone through in that moment?

 

Dan feels violently sick with hatred for himself. He is a heartless, awful excuse for a human, let alone a friend. Bile stings his throat again, but this time it’s a whole lot worse. His stomach churns angrily, and his forehead begins to dampen. “Phil,” Dan warns, gesturing for the plastic bag, “I’m gonna be sick.”

 

Alarmed, Phil hands the bag over, then moves quickly, seating himself on the couch beside Dan as he throws his guts up into it. Dan tries to push Phil away, tries to groan at him to leave, but Phil won’t budge. He stays pressed against Dan's side, one hand smoothing gently over Dan’s back. He presses a cool, damp cloth to Dan's forehead. Soft, trailing fingers brush Dan’s fringe back, combing trails into his damp, unstraightened hair. 

 

“Ughhh,” Dan groans after he's thrown up around five times. He leans backwards, eyes screwed shut, not wanting to see Phil's expression of disgust. “Phil, I’m fine." Dan assures him, voice weak and hoarse. "Go back to Ke-” He pauses in order to retch. “Kevin.”

 

Phil’s hand stills in his hair. “Kevin’s gone.”

 

Dan opens his eyes slowly, meeting Phil's gaze in surprise. He’d assumed Kevin was waiting in Phil’s room or something. He never thought Phil would have made him leave.

 

"Sorry." Dan tells him, eyes smarting. Phil looks away. 

 

Dan throws up again, and Phil strokes him through it.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dan wakes up later, it’s about four-thirty in the morning. He’s in his own bed, in pyjamas. His phone is charging beside him on the bedside table, and there’s a pint glass of water there too. He sits up and drinks half of it, head throbbing, and notices that his hand is bandaged. It’s not particularly neat, but it’s soothed the sharp, vicious pain of the gash he sliced into it into a duller ache.

 

He wriggles his foot beneath the covers, and feels a bandage on that too.

 

“How’re you feeling?” A sleepy voice says from across the room, and Dan jumps.

 

Phil is sitting in his grey armchair, head in his hand, looking half asleep.

 

“G-good.” Dan replies, heart hammering. “Well. No, not good. But okay.”

 

Phil yawns, nodding. “Good.”

 

“What’re you doing over there?” Dan asks, bewildered.

 

“Just making sure you don’t choke on your vomit in the middle of the night.” Phil answers tiredly. “You know, just hopelessly-in-love-with-your-best-friend things.”

 

Dan knows it's a joke, sort of, but he doesn't feel like smiling. “Why don’t you come here and do that?”

 

Phil sits up a little straighter, turning to the mirror beside him and putting his hand to the glass. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to cut myself or anything.” Dan blurts into the darkness; Phil turns to him, but doesn’t react. “Like, I know that might have been what it looked like, but I just got too drunk and I smashed the glass and fell and-”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Phil interrupts in a soft, pained voice. He sounds very much like it does matter, but Dan doesn’t mention this. “As long as you’re okay, then it’s fine.”

 

“I’m okay.” Dan assures him.

 

“Just.” Phil adds on, lip trembling very slightly. “You could’ve bled out, Dan. What if I hadn’t come home?”

 

Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes at the melodramatic hypothetical scenario. “I was just waiting to sober up a bit before I attempted getting a plaster. I can’t have been there more than half an hour.”

 

“Dan, I found you at two in the morning.” Phil tells him slowly, as though he were speaking with a child.

 

Dan frowns. That can’t be right. He opened the red wine at about ten. He’d had one glass before the smashed one, meaning he’d probably cut himself at about ten forty-five. Phil didn’t find him for three hours after that?

 

Fuck.

 

“I’m sorry.” Dan says, eyes widening at his own stupidity. “Fuck, that was stupid. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

 

“Or passed out.” Phil says. “Jesus Dan, what were you doing?”

 

Dan shakes his head, lost for words. He has no idea what he’s doing, ever, at any moment in time. His actions are primarily dictated by his insecurities, concerns about his future, or Phil.

 

“Kevin seems nice.” Dan says weakly, trying to change the subject without much subtlety. “Not what I imagined.”

 

“Not an exact replica of you, you mean?” Phil asks, rolling his eyes. Dan doesn’t comment. He hadn’t even thought about Phil picking someone that reminded him of Dan. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

 

“What do you mean?” Dan asks, confused.

 

Phil just shakes his head.

 

Dan shuffles back down onto his back, the tiredness suddenly overwhelming.

 

“Can’t go on like this, Dan.” Phil says very softly. Dan tries to ask what he means, but his brain won’t send the words to his mouth.

 

Dan doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but in the morning, Phil isn’t in the chair, and his water glass is full again.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the night before Phil’s birthday, and Phil’s refusing to open Twitter. Dan cannot stop laughing at this no matter how hard he tries, or how valiantly Phil battles to explain his reasons.

 

“My birthday doesn’t start until midnight!” Phil protests; Dan’s clutching his stomach, which is aching from the giggling fit he’s afflicted with. “Seeing everyone’s birthday tweets before that would be bad luck!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Dan wheezes, relenting. “Fine. Whatever, let’s watch a film or something until midnight.”

 

Phil seems satisfied with this, so he sticks on Donnie Darko. Dan groans.

 

“We just watched this a few months ago!” Dan complains, but doesn’t mind all that much.

 

They’re not watching it for long anyway. Midnight is less than an hour away.

 

“Yeah, but I’ve been listening to the soundtrack.” Phil tells Dan, who suddenly recalls walking in on Phil listening to that Joy Division song. “It’s made me want to watch it again.”

 

“Fine.” Dan says with a sigh, settling in to watch.

 

He shouldn’t complain really. This is one of his favourite films. He’s feeling a little morose, though, because tomorrow is Phil’s birthday, and he’s not going to be here.

 

The opening credits begin, and Dan chews his lip, mind wandering back to the night a couple of months ago when Phil had announced he’d booked a train ticket up North for his birthday. There had been a defiant look in Phil’s eyes when he’d told Dan, as though he was prepared for the oncoming argument.

 

Dan, ever the dramatic one, didn’t disappoint. He accused Phil of being conniving and secretive, ever since Kevin. He’d told Phil that it wasn’t fair to just spring this news on him without even discussing it first. The Birthday Sex is always the priority, those are the rules. Heck, Dan has even cheated on Cat before to prioritise their pact.

 

Phil had wanted the argument, that much had been clear. He’d told Dan that he couldn’t stand the idea of going through the ridiculous palava of their birthdays again after Dan had behaved so madly that night with the smashed wine glass.

 

He’s tired of always scraping Dan up off the floor and fixing him, he’d said, and he needed a break.

 

Dan had shouted and sworn until his lips were blue, and Phil had done much the same. After a while, it became very apparent that Phil didn’t actually want to spend his birthday away, he was just trying to hurt Dan just like Dan had hurt him by getting wasted and bleeding all over their floor.

 

But he had actually booked those train tickets.

 

So despite how Phil might feel about it now, after he and Dan had both apologised for everything and tentatively moved on, Phil has to go up North tomorrow and see his family.

 

Which means he won’t be here. Which means, obviously, that they can’t honour their rules.

 

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Dan asks, interrupting the film. He already knows the answer; Phil told him weeks ago. It’s just an excuse to talk about it.

 

“Not till like three.” Phil answers, sounding guilty. “Wanna hang out for a bit before I leave? We could have breakfast together.”

 

Dan smiles faintly. “Sure. Because we never do that.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes. “No, not normal breakfast. Birthday breakfast.”

 

“Three hour-long feasts in bed, you mean?” Dan asks, chuckling.

 

“Yeah.” Phil says, eyes shining with the fond memory of their old tradition. “Like we used to.”

 

“Pancakes?” Dan asks, as if he needs to know the answer.

 

Phil’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically.

 

Dan laughs at him, turning back to the TV. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Donnie Darko drags a bit in the middle. It requires a viewer’s full attention, from start to finish, if they are to end the film feeling satisfied with their understanding of it.

 

Luckily, Dan and Phil have both seen it enough times to remember the story and basic concept, but that doesn’t mean it’s not an effort to watch.

 

Dan’s pretty immersed in Donnie’s crisis when he hears a sharp intake of breath from the boy beside him. He glances across at Phil, eyebrow raised.

 

Phil holds his phone in front of his lips, eyes round and childlike as they stare over the top of it at Dan.

 

“It’s my birthday.” He whispers timidly, as though he needs Dan’s verification before he’ll believe it.

 

Dan looks at his own phone. Four bold, uniform zero’s stare back at him, announcing the beginning of today. He smiles, though he feels a little fearful. Birthdays are turbulent times, nowadays. 

 

“Hooray! Happy birthday!” He says to Phil anyway, his voice as jubilant as he can get it.

 

Phil continues to stare over the top of his phone, barely blinking. His eyes retain a glimmer of sadness that Dan doesn’t understand. Perhaps he regrets making plans to go up north today more than Dan had thought.

 

“Thank you.” Phil murmurs, finally lowering his phone.

 

He opens Twitter immediately, his patience having long since worn thin. Dan’s pretty impressed at his self-control, honestly. He didn’t let himself look at Twitter all night long for fear of ‘spoiling it’.

 

A slow, emotional smile grows across Phil’s face as he reads tweet after tweet from their dedicated fans. After a while watching him, Dan opens Twitter as well, scrolling through. There’s so much fanart, and it’s all so beautiful. Dan features heavily, although a lot of it is just Phil, his features accentuated and glamorised in chibi-style, or manga, or particularly kind realistic portraits that ignore all his blemishes.

 

None of it compares to how he looks right now though, Dan thinks privately, closing Twitter in order to watch him. He’s giggling contentedly, his eyes fond and happy. A pure, innocent smile plays on his lips, and he hugs a cushion to his chest.

 

“Phil,” Dan intones after a while, and Phil glances up from his screen, “do you want to go to bed soon?”

 

The smile fades from Phil’s face. In its place sits a look of trepidation, which melts into a bittersweet smile. He nods, locking his phone screen.

 

Dan stands up then, switching off the television rather abruptly. He collects his and Phil’s empty cups in one hand, then extends his other towards Phil, which the now twenty-eight year old takes.

 

Dan leads him into his own bedroom, which he doesn’t really think about until they’re both in there. Phil doesn’t object though, so Dan takes off his t-shirt, and slides his jeans down his legs.

 

Phil watches him do this, stricken with what appears to be longing, and Dan slips under his covers, reaching out for him in the dark.

 

“Come here.” Dan says softly, and Phil comes to him at once, like Dan is some sort of Prince, and Phil is his lowly subject, summoned to kiss his feet.

 

Phil crawls up onto the bed, perching beside Dan on his knees, as though he’s not sure what he’s doing there. Dan chuckles softly, finding his hand and squeezing it hard.

 

“Get into bed, doofus.”

 

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Phil peels his own t-shirt off, shucks off his trousers, and climbs under the duvet. Dan rolls onto his side to face Phil, acutely aware of how they are both across from one another, in only their underwear, on Phil’s birthday morning.

 

“This feels strange.” Phil tells him, like he’s confessing a shameful secret. “Does it feel strange to you?”

 

Dan smiles, reaching up to stroke two fingers across Phil’s freckle-peppered cheek. “No.” He sighs happily, a warm, contented feeling fizzing up inside of him. He’s missed this. “Feels like home.”

 

Phil leans over and kisses him, but something’s not quite right. His lips are too forceful, his hands searching too frantically. The ferocity with which he grips Dan’s body isn’t painful, but it’s worrying in a way Dan can’t name.

 

It becomes a little clearer, and a lot worse, when he feels the tear caught between their cheeks.

 

He draws back from the kiss, one hand on Phil’s chest to still him. The furious beating of Phil’s heart stuns him. “What’s wrong?”

 

Phil leans over him then, and Dan accepts the weight of him like the seabed welcomes the weight of the ocean on top of it. It feels so good to have Phil above him this way again. It’s been so long, and Dan never realises how big the void is becoming inside of him until Phil pours all of himself into it, filling it up.

 

Suddenly, light attacks Dan’s eyes, and he squints, momentarily blinded. As his pupils adjust, he notices Phil’s hand retreating back from the light switch of his bedside lamp.

 

“I want to see you.” Phil explains. “I want to remember you just like this.”

 

Dan’s instinct is obviously to cringe from his penetrative stare. He wants to cover his face, and demand Phil turn off the unflattering light. Dan’s so naked, and so vulnerable, and the angle from which Phil is looking at him cannot be attractive. He probably has seventy chins, and he hasn’t exfoliated in… ever, and his hair’s almost definitely sticking up – did he even straighten it today? – and he’s gained weight since Phil last saw him like this, and-

 

And then Phil kisses it all away. Each one of these insecurities is obliterated by the overwhelming onslaught of Phil’s love, inescapable and suffocating as ever.

 

This time, however, Dan doesn’t really mind drowning in it.

 

Phil takes his time, and that is the biggest understatement Dan has ever made. He kisses Dan for hours, it seems, running soft caresses over his stomach and thighs, their tongues so intertwined that Dan loses all sense of whose is whose.

 

He pushes his hands into Phil’s hair, combing his fingers through the glossy, thick black locks over and over, because it feels so lovely as it slides between the spaces separating his fingers. 

 

There’s nothing harsh or rough about any of their actions, but there’s a passion deep within both of them that pours out wordlessly, gushing like water through a burst dam. Dan never wants it to end. Phil settles all of his weight on top of Dan, their chests sticking together, their legs coiling around each other like vines.

 

The slide of Phil’s lower lip reminds Dan of the slick, inner flesh of a delicious rare fruit, the taste of him crisp, sweet and delicious. 

 

He can feel how hard he’s become, but it only seems to add to the heady euphoria of this… whatever this is. His cock is heavy and full, throbbing gently between his thighs, reminding him of its need to be touched.

 

Phil is in a similar position, Dan can feel it. Part of him wants to reach down and relieve him of the same intense burning his best friend must be feeling, but he never wants to stop kissing Phil.

 

Once, during his teenage years, at an ill-advised party with some less than desirable friends, Dan had accepted an ecstasy pill from a girl who had a crush on him. She placed it right on his tongue, grinning with glee, and Dan had swallowed it, just to fit in.

 

He’s not interested in drugs, and he’s sensible enough to know that once is enough - or never, if you’re smarter than he was. But that night, with the MDMA rushing through his bloodstream, he has to admit he glimpsed Heaven.

 

He remembers kissing that girl, the one that gave him the pill, and her leading him somewhere dark and secluded, wanting him to do more. But he couldn’t stop kissing her. It felt so incredible to just move their mouths together, to hold each other close, to press their bodies against one another and kiss, maybe forever.

 

His whole body lit up from within, a hallelujah chorus ringing loud and pure in his ears. The girl eventually grew tired of his unwillingness to feel her up, and left him in the dark. He sat in that room, staring out of an upstairs window, just basking in the loveliness of that sensation, and the tingle of his lips where he’d pressed them against someone else’s.

 

That feeling, the one that he barely even remembered before now, comes flooding back to Dan as Phil moves on top of him. And Dan realises, even as his lips start to bruise, and his jaw starts to ache, that to kiss Phil is to know something far greater than ecstasy.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dan wakes up the next morning, he’s terrified that Phil will already have gone. But he needn’t have worried. Phil is snoring soundlessly beside him, dead to the world, the startling contrast of his pale skin and black hair even stronger when he’s wrapped up in the monochromatic covers of Dan’s bed.

 

Dan strokes a hand over Phil’s exposed upper arm, one finger lightly connecting the freckles littering the skin, and then he quietly slips out of the room. He finds the ingredients for pancakes in their cupboards, thank goodness.

 

Delia helps him with the rest.

 

It’s pretty late already, Dan notes as he waits for the pan to heat up, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Phil has received millions of birthday tweets overnight, and they’re still coming thick and fast, even as Dan looks through the tag.

 

Fans keep saying that Phil had been trending worldwide not long ago, and the idea makes Dan’s head swim. He opens a new tweet and begins typing out his own birthday message, warm with the thought of Phil, still nestled in the covers of his bed, oblivious to the love he’s about to feel from around the globe when he awakens.

 

_happy birthday to the @AmazingPhil! everybody tweet him with a #HappyBirthdayPhil_

 

Dan adds several emojis to the end of his tweet, well aware of how much Phil appreciates an emoji or two, and then he sends it. As though he’s not perfectly aware of how many people are _already_ tweeting Phil with their joyous congratulatory messages and photos.

 

Dan hums to himself, smiling widely. It’s going to be really cute when Phil sees how many people care.

 

The pan is pretty hot by now, so Dan fills the kettle almost without thinking about it, knowing that the smell of frying batter will almost definitely awaken Phil, and when it does, he’ll want coffee.

 

Like a good little house elf, Dan prepares their breakfast with rhythmic familiarity, enjoying himself thoroughly despite the fact he usually hates cooking of any kind. He can’t wait for Phil to wake up. To see his smiling, happy face as he sips coffee and eats syrupy pancakes, and watches something stupid on TV with Dan cuddled into his side.

 

Between flips of the pancake, Dan taps out some replies to fans on Twitter, wanting to get them really riled up for Phil’s birthday however he can.

 

“Morning.” Comes a sleep-rough voice not long after Dan has made the first pancake.

 

Dan jumps, spinning round, frying pan in hand, and sees Phil leant against the kitchen door, watching him.

 

“Hey.” Dan giggles, putting a hand over his heart. “Scared me.”

 

Dan’s still shirtless, but Phil’s put some of his clothes back on. This is disappointing, in a sense, but it doesn’t matter really.

 

“Coffee?” He asks, presenting Phil with a pre-made cup and winking.

 

Phil laughs. “Wow. What excellent service.”

 

“Anything for the birthday boy.” Dan replies, stirring the bowl of batter. He frowns – it needs more milk, probably.

 

He opens the fridge to get some, very aware of how Phil’s eyes are sticking to him as he does so. He seems a little quiet this morning, but Dan isn’t concerned. He’s probably just slightly morose about the fact he’s foolishly made arrangements to be elsewhere today.

 

But Dan, being the mastermind of birthdays that he is, has thought of a way to deal with that little issue.

 

“So I was thinking,” Dan says, bringing the nearly empty milk carton back over to the bowl. “As you’re going up to see the fam today… Maybe we could, like… extend your birthday a bit.”

 

“Extend my birthday?”

 

“Yeah,” Dan says, pouring the remainder of the milk into the bowl and stirring, “like, we could say that – just this once – your birthday could be two days long. Today and tomorrow.”

 

“Riiight.” Phil says, sipping coffee. “And the point of that would be…?”

 

“Well,” Dan says, blushing faintly as he ladles some batter into the pan, “you come back here tomorrow, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Phil says, clearly not following.

 

“So, if tomorrow was your birthday too, you and I could… spend some time together.” Dan explains, focusing resolutely on the pancake before him. “Like normal.”

 

Phil raises an eyebrow, smiling slightly as he catches on. “Ah.”

 

Dan glances over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He sighs in relief – at least Phil doesn't look horrified by the idea. “So, what do you think?” Dan asks, but before Phil can answer, Dan hastily adds, “I mean, I’m not just talking about… _that_.” Dan inclines his head towards the fridge, where the crumpled, slightly faded sticky note still hangs proudly. “But if we had all day tomorrow together, we could do other friend stuff. I could invite Bry and co over again.”

 

Dan clears his throat, averting his eyes. “Or… Kevin, maybe.”

 

There’s a noticeable silence before Phil speaks, and it’s mildly excruciating to endure. Dan pokes at the pancake with his spatula, suddenly disgusted by it. He’s not the slightest bit hungry, he realises.

 

Then, Phil speaks. “Okay, yeah.”

 

“Yeah?” Dan repeats, turning to him for confirmation.

 

Phil smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not gonna pass up extra birthday.”

 

Dan hesitates, not convinced by Phil’s tone or expression. “Cool. I’ll… give Bry and that a text soon. See if they can come for a game night or something.”

 

Phil nods, and Dan watches him suspiciously. He wonders how to approach the topic of inviting Kevin. Phil should be the one to do it, obviously. Perhaps he’ll just get on with it without prompting.

 

But Dan can’t allow tomorrow night to be that uncertain. He needs to know whether to prepare for Kevin being here or not. Either he’ll have to sit rigidly, with a false smile plastered on his face making small talk with someone he just can’t seem to warm to, or he’ll have a fun night with Phil and their friends.

 

“So… Kevin?” Dan asks eloquently, not knowing quite how to phrase it. “Are you gonna give him a text, or…”

 

Or what, Dan thinks to himself, flipping the pancake.

 

“No.” Phil says in a soft, kind voice. He moves across the room towards Dan, then winds a hand around his waist. Dan freezes, not expecting it at all. The frying pan becomes rigid in his hand. “Kevin and I didn’t really work out.”

 

Huh? When did that happen?

 

Is Kevin out of the picture? Dan tries to squash down the ridiculous excitement he feels upon hearing this news, as it’s inappropriate to say the least. Well, at least it would be on any other day but today.

 

Phil presses his coffee-warm lips to the skin meeting between Dan’s shoulder and throat. His head lolls back against Phil’s shoulder before he can stop it.

 

He can feel Phil smiling against his skin, and it’s warm and wonderful. He forgets the pancake, forgets the kitchen, forgets birthdays and post-it notes and the look of shame in Phil’s eyes when Dan catches him staring too long.

 

“Hmm,” Phil says into his neck, “looks like you’re gonna have to go out and get the birthday boy some more milk before he has his afternoon coffee.”

 

Dan snorts with laughter, and Phil joins in. Then, like the moment never occurred, Phil is moving away from him. Dan wants to sob at the loss of contact, suddenly.

 

“Um, Dan?” Phil says as he walks towards the door, nose wrinkling. “That’s burning.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen, and at that instant, a shrill, loud beeping begins. He turns to the stove, where his blackened pancake taunts him evilly. He switches off the hob and curses.

 

He can hear Phil’s chuckling ringing in his head for the next twenty minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

They watch _Fruit Basket_ while they eat their (remade) pancakes, and somehow an hour and a half slips by.

 

Glancing at his phone and seeing the time is mildly nauseating, and Dan extricates himself from underneath Phil’s arm, where he has been very happily nestled all morning – apart from a brief trip to the shop to get more milk, ‘because Birthday’.

 

Phil makes a disgruntled sound as Dan moves to get up, and Dan smiles at him. “It’s almost half one.”

 

“So?” Phil asks with a slight pout, apparently unconcerned with the fact he has to leave for the station in an hour and a half, and he’s still in his pyjamas.

 

Smiling wider, Dan leans over him to grab his plate off the sofa arm. “So, you’ve got to open your present.”

 

He tries to hide it, but the excitement in Phil’s eyes upon hearing the word ‘present’ is as obvious as can be. Dan chuckles at him, then gets up to go and retrieve it.

 

He’s been hiding the present in his room for months now. He bought it so long ago, when he’d seen it on his own recommended items on Amazon. It had been one of those moments where Dan had just known, completely and totally, that he had to buy it for Phil.

 

He gets the present out from under his bed, brushing some dust off the pretty, gold, Atlas wrapping paper that covers it.

 

He brings it out to Phil, already smiling because he knows how much Phil will love it.

 

Phil tears into it happily, mumbling embarrassed thank you’s as he unseals Dan’s careful sellotaping. When he brings the rectangular object out, he doesn’t say anything for a moment – he just stares at it in wonder, eyes shining.

 

Dan watches his expression carefully, wanting to memorise just how he looks when he takes it in.

 

“Dan…” Phil whispers, turning the gift carefully over in his hands. “This is…”

 

“You like it?” Dan prompts, cutting off what would undoubtedly be a sentimental acceptance speech before it can make things awkward.

 

Phil meets his eyes, grinning. “It’s so cool!”

 

Dan has to admit, he’s a little jealous of his own gift-giving skills. The good thing about giving Phil presents, though, is that more often than not he gets to enjoy them too.

 

He’s sure that Phil isn’t going to be watching all of the beautifully cased, limited edition Studio Ghibli films in that box on his own, after all. He can imagine a fair few pleasant evenings of he and Phil nerd-ing out on the sofa, the director’s cut of Spirited Away on TV. Or lying on Phil’s bed answering emails, the deleted scenes of Laputa: Castle In The Sky on in the background.

 

“Thank you so much, Dan.” Phil says in an emotional voice, pulling each film out to inspect the intricate, hand-drawn cover art. “This might be the coolest present I’ve ever gotten.”

 

Dan turns away, abashed. He forces out a chuckle. “Not sure if that’s a dig at my sexual ability or not.”

 

Phil laughs, rolling his eyes. “Well, yeah, best _tangible_ present.”

 

Dan winks at him, then bunches up all the wrapping paper Phil has chucked on the sofa. He takes it out to the bin in the kitchen, and when he returns, Phil is snapping a photo of the gift.

 

Phil laughs like he’s been caught in the act. “Sorry, I have to show people.”

 

“That’s okay.” Dan laughs, but secretly he can’t help wondering whether the internet might think such an extravagant gift is a bit much for a platonic friend or flatmate to get the other.

 

He doesn’t mention this aloud, though.

 

* * *

 

 

A special delivery package addressed to Phil arrives after he’s already gone. There are several balloons with it, which makes it somewhat difficult to carry up the stairs, but Dan manages somehow.

 

The delivery man tells him to take extra care with it, so Dan tries his best, and luckily avoids tripping on the stairwell and ruining whatever it is.

 

He places the box down on their dining room table, perplexed by it. He snaps a photo of it before doing anything else, and sends it to Phil, who didn’t leave all that long ago.

 

He’s probably just gotten to the station, or perhaps he’s just sat down on the train. Wherever he’s gotten to, he replies immediately to Dan’s text, saying ‘open it!!!!’.

 

Dan smiles, goes to the kitchen to get some scissors, and carefully unboxes the package. The box falls open into a cube template, the white cardboard splaying out like it was supposed to.

 

The moment Dan gets a look at what it is, he laughs, amazed.

 

Baymax’s cute, white face stares up at him from on top of a grey slab. There are candles in each corner, and piped in white icing are the words ‘Happy Birthday Male Technician #2’.

 

He snaps a photo of it at once, obviously, and sends it to Phil. The reaction is almost instantaneous, and contains a lot of exclamation marks.

 

 **To: Dan**  
**From: Phil**  
**15:40pm**  
I can’t believe I missed that arriving!!!  
That’s amazing!! I have to tweet  
Disney, can u send some more  
pics pls?

 

 **To: Phil**  
**From: Dan**  
**15:41pm**  
Haha yeah sure. Mayb text  
someone at Disney first to see  
if it’s ok.

 

 **To: Phil**  
**From: Dan**  
**15:42pm**  
Good idea ya, will do tht now

Phil does text Disney, and they get the first tweet in, to which both Dan and Phil respond with tweets of their own. Dan’s mouth is beginning to water the more he looks at the cake, so he forces himself to place it in the kitchen, away from temptation.

 

He can’t eat it without Phil here, obviously.

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**16:21pm**  
I just ate the whole cake :/ sorry

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**16:21pm**  
:o

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**16:23pm**  
You’d better not actually eat any,  
Howell

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**16:24pm**  
Or what, Lester?

 

Dan grins to himself, then, because he’s feeling a little cheeky, he sends a follow up text.

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**16:24pm**  
;)

 

Dan has all but given up receiving an answering text from Phil, but at around five he gets one. He slides open his phone, eyes widening as he reads Phil’s words.

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**16:59pm**  
Or I’ll break out the cherry again ;)

 

* * *

 

 

He and Phil text for pretty much the whole of his train journey. Dan sits on his bed, laughing at the things Phil tells him about his misfortunes at the station and how he’s managed to isolate himself in a carriage with nobody in it.

 

Phil sends Dan photos of the snow-covered fields flying past the train window as he gets further and further away, and Dan sighs at them wistfully, wishing he could be seeing them in person too.

 

He can’t help feeling a tiny bit smug, as he always does, when Phil posts one of these photos to Instagram. He’s always the first one to see anything Phil chooses to share with the world, and he’s extremely grateful for that.

 

There’s a fifteen minute lull in their texting, which Dan assumes is due to Phil showing his ticket or changing trains or something, and then his phone buzzes.

 

Dan pauses _American Horror Story_ , and opens the text, smiling.

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**19:18pm**  
Sarah Michelle Gellar just follow  
Friday’d me and I don’t know  
what to do

 

Dan bursts out laughing, sitting up a little straighter on his bed.

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:18pm**  
hahahahahah

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:18pm**  
oh god

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:19pm**  
oh man

**From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:19pm**  
the best and worst thing

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:20pm**  
I think you have to acknowledge it

 

Dan’s face creases with laughter every time he pictures Phil’s reaction to seeing his all-time crush include him in her follow Friday. The guy deserves it, Dan thinks to himself, grinning. There is no bigger Buffy fan in the world, surely, than Philip Michael Lester.

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**19:23pm**  
Thanks for the follow Friday @realsmg  
birthday made!

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**19:24pm**  
Something like that?

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:25pm**  
or reply to her tweet with something  
classy and understated like ‘ah thank you!  
this tweet is the best birthday present I’ve  
had today :D’

 

Dan smiles to himself as he sends this. He should be a publicist or something. That’s the perfect response, truly. Gracious but not too fanboy-ish.

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:26pm**  
maybe add on to the end ‘apart from Dan’s,  
obviously #sorrysarah’

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
**19:27pm**  
you wish

 

 **From: Phil  
****To: Dan**  
**19:28pm**  
Okay I tweeted her D:

 

Dan clicks onto the notification that immediately buzzes on his phone as soon as Phil tweets. He reads the response, nodding in approval. He’s kept it short and sweet:

 

_@realsmg ahh thank you!! :D best birthday ever_

Dan sighs, his heart squeezing very gently.

 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
**19:28pm**  
Perfect.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Phil asks him fondly, his voice slightly crackly through the terrible webcam microphone.

 

“What do you mean?” Dan asks, watching with a peculiar interest as Phil rubs moisturiser into his face.

 

The garish lighting of Phil’s parents’ bathroom, into which Phil has brought his laptop, and subsequently Dan, might make anyone else look shiny and grotesque. Phil, however, somehow looks angelic. His skin is glowing, and not just from the moisturiser.

 

He seems lit up somehow, as though the many, many thousands of tweets and messages from every phan account, every brand name’s social media account, every celebrity imaginable, have given him a jubilant new outlook on life.

 

Dan’s more than a little jealous he isn’t with Phil right now to soak it all up.

 

Although, Dan can’t help thinking that perhaps it’s exactly _because_ Phil is away from him right now that he’s able to be so happy. God knows that being in Dan’s close proximity doesn’t help the guy to stay positive on a day-to-day basis.

 

“You always pick the times when I’m away to watch really sad, horrible things.” Phil tells him, and Dan blinks, perplexed.

 

Does he? In hindsight, that’s probably true. He’s never noticed the pattern before, though.

 

“I guess you’re right.” Dan accepts, frowning when he thinks about why this might be. “I didn’t really think about it like that.”

 

“It just proves you need me around.” Phil jokes, turning to the camera and laughing, his tongue poking out slightly. “I bring out your positive side. I force you to watch cartoons and eat cakes and wear colourful things every once in a while. Without me, you’d watch sad films every night and dress in grey and never leave your sofa crease.”

 

Dan laughs, but what Phil’s saying is hitting a little too close to home for his liking. He doesn’t enjoy finding things out about himself that he’d been oblivious of before. It sends him into a freewheel, and makes him overanalyse his personality. It makes him feel like he has no sense of self, and is too dependent on other people and how they perceive him.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks, bending down towards the screen. He’s smiling softly, and Dan stares at his big, pretty face, trying to let it calm him. “I’m only joking. I watched _Grave Of The Fireflies_ on my own the first time, too.”

 

“Hah, yeah.” Dan says, wanting very much to change the subject. That film had put him in such a strange mood. Why on earth did he want to subject himself to that tonight, on Phil’s birthday? He’d been too distracted by the day’s events to properly immerse himself, so he didn’t even cry. Now he’s just left feeling morose and a little macabre, and very lonely. “I really wish you were here.”

 

Dan says it before he can stop himself. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice that Phil is in the middle of removing his contact lens. Upon hearing Dan’s words, he pokes himself in the eye.

 

“Ow! Shit!” Phil exclaims, one hand over his eye. “What did you say?”

 

Dan colours, fidgeting. He feels that he can’t really pretend he said something else, at this point. Phil almost definitely heard him the first time.

 

“I just…” Dan tries to explain, floundering. “It feels weird. Being without you, here.”

 

Phil’s hand falls from his face, eyes wide and stunned as he stares at Dan through the screen.

 

“I mean, just tonight, obviously.” Dan adds hastily, folding his arms across his chest. “On your birthday.”

 

“Yeah.” Phil echoes. “Just tonight.”

 

There’s a pause then, where neither of them seem to know what to say.

 

Luckily, at that moment, the door of the bathroom Phil is standing in bursts open, and Martyn enters. “Phil, do you want any more cake, ‘cause- oh! Hey, Dan.”

 

Dan chuckles, waving awkwardly at Martyn. “Hey. How’re you?”

 

“Great, yeah.” Martyn replies politely, eyeing Phil with the subtlety of a shotgun. “Uh, what are you up to?”

 

Dan sighs, shrugging. “Just subjecting myself to emotional torment while Phil’s away for a single night.”

 

Martyn’s mouth falls open slightly, and Dan doesn’t realise how his words could have been interpreted until it’s too late.

 

“He just finished watching _Grave Of The Fireflies_.” Phil explains to Martyn quickly, his cheeks a little pink.

 

“Ohh.” Martyn says, nodding in understanding. “Jeez. That’s a little heavy, Dan. You should’ve come up with Phil! We all just finished the new _Planet Of The Apes_. Slightly less harrowing.”

 

Dan pretends not to notice the tension increasing in Phil’s shoulders as Martyn casually mentions how Dan should have received an invite, even though he clearly didn’t. After their fight had been resolved, Dan debated asking Phil if he could come with, but decided against it, ultimately.

 

It gets too messy, too awkward for both he and Phil if there are too many family members asking questions about the nature of their relationship. Even if those questions aren’t asked aloud, they’re noticeable in the eyes of relatives when they watch Dan and Phil together, or discuss their living/working partnership.

 

So Phil hadn't invited Dan up north, and Dan had never tried to get him to.

 

Instead, Dan will spend Phil’s extended birthday with him, tomorrow. It’s a little greedy, and only just within the rules if you squint, but Dan’s not prepared to go two birthdays in a row without… well.

 

Without anything.

 

“Anyway,” Martyn says, drawing attention to the gaping silence that Dan has only just noticed. He sees Phil and his brother exchange a look of some sort, and then Martyn’s eyes flick back to the screen. “Hopefully see you soon, Dan. Phil, there’s more cake if you want it, but hurry up or Mum’s gonna chuck it.”

 

Martyn leaves quickly, like he can’t get out of the room fast enough. Phil turns back to Dan, his expression strange.

 

“Guess you need to go snag some cake before it’s too late.” Dan surmises, smiling at Phil.

 

Phil shrugs, chewing his lip as he stares at Dan. His expression has changed rather drastically from the easy, smiley, happy one he wore before Martyn entered the room.

 

Now he looks a little sad. Or worried, maybe. Dan can’t really tell without being in front of him.

 

“Everything okay?” Dan asks.

 

Phil doesn’t answer for a moment, he just picks up the laptop and carries Dan through the house until they’re locked away in his room. Phil sits heavily down on the bed, holding the laptop in his arms, keeping it close to his face.

 

“Yeah.” Phil says at last, his eyes still sad. “I wish I was with you, too.”

 

* * *

 

The second day of Phil’s birthday is nearly perfect. As soon as he comes in the door, Dan is jumping on him like a puppy who’s been left in the house too long, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

 

Phil laughs at him, pink-cheeked with surprise, and tells Dan to at least let him take his coat off. Dan can see how pleased he is at the welcome, though. It’s written all over his adorable face.

 

They have Baymax birthday cake for lunch, which feels reckless and extravagant, but also tastes so incredible that neither of them care in the slightest.

 

Dan suggests they play some games together, which makes Phil very excitable, so Dan digs out Final Fantasy VII and pops it in the PlayStation while Phil unpacks his bag.

 

Then, he switches out all the main lights, turns on their various lamps, strings some fairylights around the TV, and pulls the sofa cushions onto the floor in a big pile. He draws the blinds, grabs the cake and some snacks from the kitchen, and seats himself in the middle, heart thumping a little at the thought of Phil’s reaction.

 

When Phil walks in, he seems a tad taken aback, but his big, happy smile tells Dan that he loves it. He joins Dan in the pillow den he’s created on the floor, and takes a controller.

 

“Did you pick this to be a massive sap, or was it random?” Phil asks Dan, laughing as he sees the Final Fantasy VII title screen.

 

Dan’s tummy flips over as the first notes of his favourite melody tinkle out of the TV speakers. The nostalgia never fails to hit him, tsunami-like, whenever he hears the theme tune to this game. Long ago, he accepted that _Interrupted_ by Fireworks is, and always will be, his secret favourite song. A memory hits him vividly, almost knocking him back onto the cushions:

 

Himself, discovering the melody of this song on his old piano back at his parents’ house in Reading. Phil, on the stool beside him, staring at his profile as though Dan were a firework himself, bright and vibrant and beautiful.

 

They used to play this song constantly. As they kissed, as they talked, as they fumbled with unpracticed, nervous hands underneath the covers in the dark. If their old, childish romance all those years ago had a soundtrack, this would be the overture.

 

“Oh, to be a huge sap, definitely.” Dan says in a voice far more serious than he intends.

 

Phil’s smile wavers, and he leans forwards like he’s drawn to Dan, stopping himself before he closes the distance between them. Dan closes the distance for him, seeing no reason to play it cool today, when it’s so obvious that they’ve both missed doing this, and neither of them are hiding it.

 

They play for hours. They pause the game from time to time, stopping to pee, or to discuss game strategy, or to refill their mugs with tea and coffee. More than a few times, the game reaches a point whereupon the memories attached are too strong for them both, and so, blushing furiously, they pause it to try and recapture that first, burning desire they had for one another.

 

They kiss each other with just as much desperation as there was the first time around, and this doesn’t go unnoticed by either one of them. Things are so different, playing this for the second time. They’ve both changed so drastically, and so much has happened.

 

But despite this, Dan thinks as Phil drags his lips over Dan’s for maybe the hundredth time, in a sense their dynamic is much the same. Dan is still the hopeless, naiive one, attracted to someone that it seems he could never really have. And Phil is still the bumbling, awkward, yet incomprehensibly sexy older man, strung out on Dan for reasons that never made sense to him.

 

They get about halfway through the game, and then Dan realises what time it is.

 

“Shit, they’re gonna be here soon.” Dan says, mildly alarmed.

 

Phil, who is half laid across Dan’s lap, still laughing from a joke Dan’s now forgotten, pauses the game. “Do we need to do anything?”

 

Dan smiles down at him in amusement. “Should probably open the blinds. Make it look a little less like a sex dungeon.”

 

Phil scoffs. “Sex dungeon?”

 

“Kissing dungeon, then.” Dan corrects, rolling his eyes. “S’not my fault you didn’t seize any of the many opportunities you had throughout the day to stick your hand down my pants.”

 

Phil chuckles, sitting up and scooting close to Dan in order to kiss him. The press of Phil’s lips against his own stuns Dan into silence for a minute or so.

 

Then, he hears Phil speak against his mouth: “Maybe I’m saving it for later.”

 

Dan shivers, allowing Phil to lean him back against the cushions.

 

* * *

 

 

As predicted, Bryony, Wirrow, Adam and his new boyfriend Jacob all arrive about fifteen minutes later. They laugh a lot at the pillow den that Dan and Phil have not bothered to clear up, and they quickly settle in, seating themselves wherever they can find room, treating the flat as if it was their own.

 

Of course, Dan would have things no other way, though it does mean that he and Phil have to remain seated on the pillows in the middle of the floor, which is a little weird but fine.

 

They have a couple of drinks, and then by unanimous agreement, they send out for some Mexican food via a delivery app. Bryony gives Phil her present, seeming very excited about it, which is a good sign. Bryony’s gifts are always either incredible, or last-minute and terrible - there is no in between.

 

Phil sits cross-legged in the centre of the pillow den, unwrapping the soft parcel with care. He pulls it out, awestruck, his eyes as round as saucers.

 

“Holy crap!” He declares, turning the fabric over in his hands.

 

Dan studies the object curiously, trying to work out exactly what it is. It’s made up of lots of different fabrics, all stitched together, making one big cape-like thing.

 

“You mentioned a while ago that you wanted a blanket.” Bryony says happily, clearly very proud of herself. “So I made you one.”

 

“This is insane!” Phil cries, totally enamoured. He studies the blanket up close, inspecting each patchwork pattern. “Is this why you asked me what my favourite shape is?”

 

“Yeah, and you said _zig-zags_ ,” Bryony reminds him, rolling her eyes. “Talk about being difficult, Phil.”

 

She’s stitched the fabrics together in a zig-zag pattern, Dan notices, and he raises his eyebrows, thoroughly impressed with her skill.

 

“Wow,” he says, chuckling, “I can already tell Phil’s never going to emerge from under that.”

 

“It makes a nice addition to your little nest there, too.” Bryony replies, something knowing and disapproving in the stare she aims at Dan.

 

He swallows, seeing it clearly, but ignores her.

 

“Bry, I love it.” Phil tells her, sounding sincere. “I don’t know what to say, this must have taken forever! Thank you so so much.”

 

He gets up to wrap the blanket around his shoulders; it flies out behind him, cape-like, as he jogs across the room to hug her. She laughs at him, but tells him he’s more than welcome.

 

After that, Dan saves his and Phil’s Final Fantasy game, turns off the PlayStation and boots up the Wii; after several rounds of Wii Sports, as well as creating a new Mii for Jacob – which is always entertaining – the food arrives.

 

Dan clears all the crap off the dining room table, and spreads out the feast, telling everyone to just dig in. There’s a lot of frantic hands and moans of appreciation as the food is consumed, but they find there’s still way too much left over, as always seems to be the case when ordering in.

 

“I think I’m in a food and cake coma.” Phil groans, lying on his back on the spread of cushions.

 

Dan laughs at him, then lays his head on Phil’s stomach, making him groan.

 

“That was orgasmic.” Adam says, one hand on his full belly. “Not sure I can move now, though. I think my Wii Sports-ing might be over for the night.”

 

“Yes, agreed.” Bryony says, nodding from where she’s nestled under Wirrow’s arm. “Let’s play something less strenuous.”

 

“Mario Kart?” Dan suggests, and everyone except Jacob groans theatrically, tossing pillows at his head.

 

“No.” Adam replies, laughing. “Have you got like a quiz game or something?”

 

Phil springs into action then, running to the office to pull out ‘Buzz’, a game he and Dan had played on the gaming channel only a week earlier, upon Phil’s insistence. It’s a general knowledge game, a relic from Phil’s childhood, and although terrible, it’s funny as hell to play.

 

They get through several rounds of this, everyone falling about laughing at the absurdity along with the extremely dated questions. Dan divvies up some more Baymax cake at some point, which people wolf down despite complaints of still being full from the Mexican.

 

He must have had four or five drinks, but nothing too crazy, which is why Dan is a little confused when he wakes up with his head in Phil’s lap. He blinks his eyes open slowly, hearing hushed voices and the creak of floorboards as their guests whisper goodbye’s at Phil, then sneak out of the door.

 

He only sits up once everyone has gone, and turns to Phil frowning, rubbing his eyes. “Wha’s going on?”

 

Phil giggles at him. “You fell asleep.”

 

“Everyone’s gone.” Dan says, looking around the room. When his gaze lands back on Phil, there’s an expression of pure, raw love in his eyes.

 

It burns Dan’s skin, and he has to look away.

 

“Wanna play some more Final Fantasy?” Phil asks after a moment.

 

Dan thinks about asking what the time is, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. He’s got Phil next to him, they’re still celebrating his birthday, he’s full of cake and food and love and happiness.

 

He definitely wants to hear _Interrupted_ by Fireworks again. He nods, smiling, and Phil gently moves out from underneath Dan, who hadn’t even really noticed he was still lying on Phil.

 

Phil switches off the big lights, then gets the game up and running; Dan closes his eyes gently, letting the sweet melody of his and Phil’s song rock him gently away from himself.

 

His eyes fly open again when he feels Phil kiss him.

 

He hums contentedly, pushing his fingers into Phil’s hair, wrapping his legs around Phil’s. He can feel fingers slipping quietly under his t-shirt, trailing across his stomach. He lifts his arms up on silent command, allowing Phil to strip him of it.

 

Phil’s hands glide over his skin like ice dancers slip across a rink. It’s very warm in this room thanks to the body heat of their friends, and the warm air travelling up from the flat below them, heating the wooden floor under their pillows.

 

Phil’s lips kiss him everywhere. They press against the soft bubble of his chin, then his button nose, across his flushed, non-existent cheekbones. He kisses each of Dan’s eyelids, then his forehead, his temples, his ears, his jaw, his neck.

 

The more times Phil’s mouth touches him in these unexpected places, the more sensitive Dan finds he becomes. Eyes shut fast so he doesn’t spoil it for himself, doesn’t know where Phil will go, he gasps at each touch. It electrifies him, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his veins.

 

Phil spends a great deal of time mouthing at Dan’s throat. He’s gentle at first, soft and damp, all lips and smooth, unstubbled skin.

 

But Dan can’t take it, after so long he needs more, and he doesn’t care about who will notice or how dangerous it might be.

 

“You can mark me.” Dan tells him breathily, his voice urgent and strained. He clings to Phil’s back, helpless and totally in Phil’s control.

 

So Phil bites down, right over his frantic pulsepoint, laving at the area with his tongue, and sucking a bruise right into the skin. Dan squirms underneath him, whimpering because he truly cannot remember the last time he felt this, despite it being one of his favourite things.

 

The music swims all around them, and time begins to slow, then stop completely. The room, dark except for the TV, a Tetris lamp, some hastily draped fairylights, and a few candles Phil must have lit earlier on, is in stasis.

 

The clocks cease ticking, Dan is sure of it.

 

The music continues, looped over and over as the Final Fantasy title screen stares out from the TV. This room is no longer on earth. That can be the only explanation for this feeling, Dan thinks as Phil’s mouth, hot and wet against his skin, sucks another bruise.

 

Instead, their strange, ethereal connection has transported them, temporarily, to another, parallel universe, where they can be together indefinitely.

 

In this universe, there are no constrictions, no rules or boundaries. There is only the endless, unfailing bond they share, and an indefinite period in which they are allowed to express their appreciation of it.

 

In this universe, Dan loves Phil freely, is allowed to want him always, and can hold on to him as long as he desires.

 

Eventually, Phil moves away from Dan’s throat, kissing down to his collarbones, teeth scraping gently over each one. Dan swallows, breathing heavily, and tries to keep his twitching under control even as Phil kisses across his chest, takes each of Dan’s nipples in his mouth and swirls his tongue around them.

 

He sucks and bites the sensitive flesh, and soon Dan is moaning, his hands at the back of Phil’s neck, gripping his collar.

 

“Oh, fff- fuck…” Dan chokes out into the static air. “Phil…”

 

By the time Phil is through teasing his nipples, Dan is about ready to burst, but Phil is nowhere near done with him yet. He drags his lips down both of Dan’s arms, lifting Dan’s hands one by one into his own, and pressing his lips to the palms.

 

Something strange sets alight inside of Dan, and he feels his throat constricting, confused by the overwhelming tumult of emotions that attack upon seeing how careful, how gentle Phil is with him. He handles Dan with reverence, as though he were a rare artefact, or a prized jewel.

 

Dan’s eyes begin to sting.

 

All too soon, Phil is kissing over his belly, licking over the thin, dark trail of hair leading into his jeans. Phil opens Dan’s fly easily, carefully, not rushing at all, though he must know it’s killing Dan a little.

 

“Lift.” Phil instructs in a detached, soft voice, unconnected to his emotion-filled expression.

 

Dan lifts his bum up off the pillows, and Phil tugs Dan’s jeans and underwear down his thighs, then over his knees and shins and ankles, until they’re gone entirely. He takes hold of Dan’s feet alternately, peeling off his socks one by one.

 

Dan is completely naked now, and Phil is still fully clothed. Usually this might bother him somewhat, but there’s something in the way Phil looks at him tonight, that tells Dan it would be pointless to feel insecure.

 

As if to confirm Dan’s thoughts, Phil drags a slow gaze up over Dan’s exposed form, starting at his feet and ending at his eyes. Dan flushes because he can’t possibly help it.

 

His head begins to swim impossibly fast, and he swallows thickly, eyes still smarting.

 

The way Phil is staring at him is as though he’s never seen him before. As though he’s never seen _anything_ before. A blind man, struck suddenly with sight, gazing upon the most vividly coloured, beautiful masterpiece in all of creation.

 

The urge to cover himself, to protest or make a deflective joke of the whole situation is overwhelming. He doesn’t deserve anything like that sort of look to be thrust upon him. What could it possibly be about his soft, stretchmarked, ungroomed naked body, with its love handles and lack of muscle, that could prompt a reaction so mad and flattering?

 

And not just from anyone – from Phil. The man who sees everything sideways. Who sees hidden depths in shallow waters, and unearths magic from banality.

 

Phil’s opinion will always matter to Dan far more than anyone else’s. Is this his opinion of Dan, written on his face right now?

 

Dan cannot possibly hope to comprehend it, let alone live up to it.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than right now.” Phil says into the silence stretching between them. Dan stares at him, dumbstruck as ever, in the face of this love he definitely does not deserve.

 

Two great, fat tears drip down Phil’s cheeks, and Dan watches them trail down his face, horrified. “Phil?”

 

Phil reaches out for him with one hand, and Dan laces his fingers with it at once.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Dan.” Phil says to him, in a voice like it hurts.

 

The stinging in Dan’s eyes becomes hot, wet moisture, and then he’s crying too. Phil swoops down and kisses him on the mouth, then on each eye, wiping the tears away.

 

“I’m going to love you forever, Dan, okay?” Phil says as he peppers kisses over Dan’s face. “Remember that.”

 

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He wishes, more than anything, that his own mind would just free itself of his insecurities, and then he could give Phil what he wants. What he needs. He wishes he could just stop all of Phil’s pain, whatever the cost.

 

He wonders what this whole situation would have been like reversed. If he’d been the one that had been so desperately in love with Phil all this time, and if Phil had treated him with the same indifference Dan had.

 

“I will.” Dan finds himself promising. "I will."

 

* * *

 

 

Dan has already come, but Phil is still touching him everywhere. One of Phil’s fingers strokes delicately over his entrance, teasing and far too gentle. It’s working though; Dan can feel himself getting hard again, which – after too little time to recover – is both excruciating and intoxicating.

 

Phil pushes Dan’s thighs apart, exposing him readily, and Dan doesn’t even care. He’s past the point of self-consciousness or shame. Phil can do as he pleases – it is his birthday after all.

 

He’s just about to tell Phil as much, and to get on with it, when he feels something unusual. At first, Phil’s mouth is against and around the base of his cock, then Phil’s tongue is teasing over his balls.

 

While it’s driving Dan a little crazy, this is by no means strange.

 

Then, quite unexpectedly, he feels the tip of Phil’s tongue grazing over the very place his finger just was. Dan freezes, gasping loudly. The sensation is entirely new, and it shocks him.

 

Tentatively, this same tongue licks against Dan again, testing the waters. Dan can’t help himself – he moans, loud. The shockwave of pleasure this new, intimate thing Phil is trying out slices through his core. He can feel it in his fingertips, and they tingle excitedly.

 

“Ohhh, fuck…” Dan says, trying to show his appreciation. “Phil, are you…”

 

He’s going to say ‘are you _sure_ ’ but he can’t get to the end of his sentence. Phil, his confidence boosted by Dan’s expletive no doubt, redoubles his efforts, laving with practised efficiency against Dan’s most intimate area.

 

Tossing his head back and groaning, Dan grips the pillows hard, biting his lip. He wonders if this is what it feels like for people with vaginas, when they receive oral sex from a partner. If so, there is no wonder that the response they give is almost always so fantastic.

 

Phil’s tongue is suddenly the most incredible thing Dan has ever encountered, and he mentally curses himself for not treating it as such in the past. He should have been feeding Phil a constant, steady stream of his favourite foods, so that his tongue would be appreciative. He should have blown on every forkful of food Phil has ever scooped into his mouth to ensure it didn’t damage that beautiful, glorious muscle in any way.

 

Dan pushes his hips down, urging Phil onwards, which he’ll probably be embarrassed about later, though right now he doesn’t care. Phil seems to enjoy it, if his moans are any judge, however, and he works Dan’s hole open a little, slipping the tip of his tongue inside.

 

It gets to a point where Dan is pretty sure he’s actually about to come, just from this, so he reaches down blindly, grabbing onto Phil’s shoulder.

 

“Ph-phil, fuck, _fuck!_ ” Dan shouts, trying to warn him. “I’m gonna come, Phil, stop, stop…”

 

Phil draws away, panting slightly, and kisses up one of Dan’s thighs.

 

He pulls something out of his pocket, and when Dan regains control of himself enough to see what it is, he snorts with delirious laughter.

 

“Oh my fucking God, are you serious?”

 

“I told you.” Phil chuckles, which is a little strange to see when he still has the trackmarks of tears staining his face.

 

Phil uncaps the lube swiftly, and as he coats his fingers, the familiar sickly-sweet smell of chemically-recreated cherry flavouring fills Dan’s nostrils.

 

That, alongside the song playing, and Dan’s tipsy, giddy brain, is enough to send him straight back to 2009. He closes his eyes and imagines he and Phil are eighteen and twenty-two, respectively.

 

He imagines them alone in Phil’s house, naked on the sofa, Final Fantasy paused in the background, Dan’s stomach fluttery with nerves because he’s about to give Phil everything.

 

He opens his eyes just as Phil slips his first finger inside of him. It doesn’t hurt like it did back then – not that Dan ever let on that it hurt in the slightest.

 

Phil watches him now, just as searching, just as careful as he had been six years ago, still watching Dan’s face for any sign he might not be enjoying himself. Phil has always, without fail, put Dan first.

 

Phil fits a second finger inside of him, which amazes Dan even now. Dan used to be so tiny, so slight and bony. A small breeze would have blown him over. Yet somehow Phil had slotted into him like he belonged there, just as he does today.

 

Dan’s bigger now, and he’s had a lot more practice with taking Phil’s impressive length, but nevertheless, he marvels at it.

 

Phil’s three fingers deep now, stretching and stretching, though he doesn’t need to, and they both know it. It’s just for safety, just to add to Dan’s comfort.

 

Phil removes his fingers, then takes off his shirt, unhurried despite Dan’s urges. He slips off his jeans, throwing them aside, then his boxers, and Dan just sucks in a breath, seeing him.

 

It always used to knock the air out of him, seeing Phil naked like this. He’s an Adonis to behold, broad and manly, his hips as wide as his shoulders. He’s nothing like Dan, who feels constantly like he accidentally grew too tall, or too wide, and now his body can’t decide how to handle it.

 

Phil’s frame is unchanging, more or less. He's thick set and rugged. His chest is smattered with dark hair, and his pale skin is virtually flawless, aside from the few moles hiding in random places. Dan thinks he could locate each one, even now. He's so, incredibly hot. Dan's skin tingles in anticipation, looking at him. He licks his lips without thinking about it, and Phil chuckles at him, slicking himself up with that horrid cherry lubricant.

 

Dan wonders briefly if he should have insisted on a condom this time, because of Kevin, but he doesn’t want to bring that up now, and he trusts Phil to have been safe about that stuff.

 

The image of Kevin is also one that Dan decidedly does not want to imagine, as the thought is incredibly sickening to him, even now he's gone. Instead, he closes his eyes, willing his thoughts away, and in moments he feels the tip of Phil's length pressing against him. He sighs in relief, his body going slack as he waits eagerly amongst the pillows, for Phil to inch himself forwards. 

 

His internal muscles flutter and spasm as Phil pushes inside, slow and steady, filling him to the brim. The feeling is overwhelming, _orgasmic_ , already, and they've barely begun. Phil lets out a soft, broken little groan, like he can’t hold it back, and hearing it is so erotic that Dan comes right then, jack-knifing towards Phil, his hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

 

A sob breaks free of Dan’s lips as the come pours out of him, his body wracked with spasms. Phil pushes him backwards into the cushions, laying virtually on top of him, and begins thrusting inside. Oversensitised as he is from coming twice already, Dan can only whimper in response. Strangled, mewling noises escape his lips without permission, and he clings hard to Phil, wanting to show him, somehow, just how brutally amazing this feels.

 

Phil keeps kissing over his face, his pace fast and rhythmic, his thrusts deep and sure. Dan's short nails dig into Phil’s skin, but he can't help it. Phil is rubbing him raw from the inside out, hammering against his prostate with unyielding ferocity. It's utterly excruciating, and Dan thinks he might actually pass out, or come for a third time, depending on which of his body’s micro-systems win out.

 

Phil bites at his ear, and Dan clenches tightly around Phil, making him groan.

 

“Dan,” Phil pants into his ear, “Dan, Dan, Dan.”

 

Dan just nods, completely stricken with the bliss overwhelming his every muscle. He drags Phil's head backwards to look into his eyes; they glisten, two brilliant blue rockpools, threatening to spill. 

 

“Dan…” Phil says again, kissing him hard for a moment. “I love you. I love you so much.”

 

Tears spill from Dan’s eyes without him meaning to. He can’t deal with it all, everything’s too much, too heightened, too intense. Phil’s voice sounds like heartbreak, and Dan can’t listen to it when Phil is inside of him this way.

 

He kisses Phil roughly, holding the back of his head in place with both hands.

 

He’s speaking the words his brain warns him not to, and he’s doing the one thing that will probably hurt Phil most of all, but he presses his forehead to Phil’s anyway, staring into those swirling blue eyes.

 

“I love you too, Phil.” He says firmly, through his tears. “I always have.”

 

* * *

 

 

They lie together in the darkness, getting their breath back.

 

Neither one of them had quite expected such an emotionally or physically draining night, so laid here, in the aftermath, they don’t really know what to say.

 

Dan opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a soft, wordless song as he follows along to the Final Fantasy theme tune, which is still playing on the TV.

 

He expects Phil to laugh at him. He expects Phil to say something silly, or to suggest a shower or that they go to bed.

 

Instead, Phil pulls the blanket Bryony gifted him over himself, and swallows.

 

“Dan,” he says, sounding stricken.

 

Dan turns his face towards him, softly smiling in the afterglow of that amazing few hours.

 

“Mmm?”

 

There's a silence. It feels loaded. 

 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

 

The floor, the cushions, the earth… they all fall away into a void beneath Dan; he plummets, naked, vulnerable, and utterly alone, into the black hole from whence he was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Phil's ad video for Krave where he and Dan dress up as a lion and a dinosaur then race across a pool  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "Phil the Lion vs. Dan the Dinosaur! - WATER RACE" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLLvzSEVxdo. 
> 
> Dan and Phil introduce DanAndPhilGAMES  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "SOMETHING NEW?!"[YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfY0ls5_MEw.
> 
> Phil plays Love Will Tear Us Apart on the Radio Show very soon after his bday  
> \- phanshows (2015), "Dan and Phil, February 2nd, 2015" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFPnRT0YDmM&t=2105s, 1:00.
> 
> That clip of Dawn and Tim from the UK version of The Office (you should watch it's so cute)  
> \- JackieKalli (2012), "The Office UK - Tim, Dawn and their 1 pound kiss" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfGE_n1p0N4. 
> 
> Dan and Phil react to that Anaconda fan video in the Tumblr Tag video  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "MY TUMBLR TAG 2! (with Dan)" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vBn2yi6tI8&t=193s, 2:38.
> 
> Phil won't look at Twitter until midnight  
> \- danisnotonfire (2015), "@jasparbasically he doesn't believe it's really the birthday until morning i was looking at him avoid twitter from midnight haha" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561128743176261632.
> 
> Phil posts a photo of the snow-covered countryside on his way up to the north  
> \- AmazingPhil (2015), https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561128743176261632. 
> 
> Dan tweets Phil happy birthday  
> \- danisnotonfire (2015), "happy birthday to the @AmazingPhil! everybody tweet him with a #HappyBirthdayPhil" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561127770139664384.
> 
> Dan tweets about being made to get more milk  
> \- danisnotonfire (2015), "@twinklyhowell yep we've ran out of milk and i've already been told to go get more for his afternoon coffee because birthday" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561128743176261632.
> 
> Dan gets Phil a Studio Ghibli boxset for his birthday  
> \- AmazingPhil (2015), "YESSS" [Instagram], https://www.instagram.com/p/yetX8WLBDs/.  
> \- phanshows (2015), "Phil's younow - February 1st, 2015!" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMg5zUvKUGE, 5:24.
> 
> Disney give Phil a Baymax birthday cake  
> \- Disney UK (2015), "Wishing Male Technician #2 a happy birthday from #Baymax & the team @Disney_UK #HappyBirthdayPhil @amazingphil" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561191611720552449.  
> \- danisnotonfire (2015), "@AmazingPhil @Disney_UK it's HUGE! we'll be eating it until phil's next birthday hahah." [Twitter], https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/561191611720552449.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2015), "  
> @Disney_UK omg it's amazing!! thank you so much! He's so lifelike I'm scared to cut into his face" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/561190476259528704. 
> 
> Dan and Phil exchange texts about Sarah Michelle Gellar Follow Fridaying him  
> \- Dan Howell & Phil Lester (2015), "The Amazing Book Is Not On Fire", (Penguin: London), p. 195.  
> \- Sarah Michelle Gellar (2015), "#FF @LoveGmen10 @DonERiQ @EduardoSG16 @AliActs @paintercrystal @AmandaStark5 @octoberxswimmer @AmazingPhil @theksutherland @dajwoh" [Twitter], https://twitter.com/SarahMGellar/status/561241845448323072.
> 
> Phil spent the 30th with his fam and watched Planet of the Apes. He receives a blanket from Bryony and spent the 31st playing games and eating Mexican with friends  
> \- phanshows (2015), "Phil's younow - February 1st, 2015!" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMg5zUvKUGE, 9:26. 
> 
> Dan spent Phil's birthday alone in the flat and watched Grave of the Fireflies but didn't cry wtf  
> \- phanshows (2015), "Dan's younow - February 3rd, 2015!" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEJ0zoGufoA. 
> 
> Interrupted by Fireworks/ FFVII reminds Dan of Phil/2009  
> \- http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/157920242230/rubberupandmakedanhowell-youtube-phandom.
> 
> I would put in a source about the cherry lube but you fuckers know why i cant do that ;)))
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
> \- Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division  
> \- Creep by Radiohead  
> \- What A Catch, Donnie by Fall Out Boy  
> \- Interrupted by Fireworks


	9. Dan's Twenty-Fourth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just really sorry for this one.

June 11th, 2015 (Dan is Twenty-Four)

 

_(Just after Phil's Twenty-Eighth birthday)_

 

The week immediately proceeding Phil’s announcement is a tough one. Dan doesn’t argue like Phil expects him to, he just closes in on himself. He doesn’t seem happy about ending the Birthday Sex, but he doesn’t try to force Phil to change his mind, so it could be worse, Phil supposes.

 

About three days after he declares he wants to call it off, Phil catches Dan in the kitchen, staring at their fridge door. He glances at Phil, hovering in the entryway, and shrugs at him.

 

“Guess we don’t need this anymore.” Dan says, tearing the sticky note down.

 

Phil watches, aghast, as Dan tosses it into the trash, then walks out of the kitchen like nothing has occurred. If you asked Phil why he went and fished it out, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

 

* * *

 

There are a few instances where Phil tries again to bring up the subject of stopping their arrangement, and Dan’s feelings about it. Each time however, Dan seems very reluctant to discuss it.

 

“It had to end sometime.” Dan will shrug, leaving the room before Phil can probe him further.

 

This behaviour starts to worry Phil. It doesn't seem healthy, not talking about any of it whatsoever. Left as it is, the situation seems to have been left with too many loose ends, none of which Dan is in any hurry to tie up. For instance, Dan has never even asked Phil why he wants to stop the arrangement. Phil suspects this is probably because Dan already suspects why, but that's no excuse. Is Dan just planning on never speaking about it again? Is he just going to live out his life beside Phil, ignoring all of the emotional scars that engaging in their pact for all these years has left them both with?

 

A few days ago, when Phil had choked out that he wanted to stop engaging in their Birthday Sex activities, Phil had been prepared for an argument. A war, even. Months before, ever since he'd come home and found Dan unconscious and bleeding in a pile of shattered glass, Phil has been preparing for battle. He’d psyched himself up over time, rehearsing his points, going over all the reasons why stopping the Birthday Sex was the only way to go on. For either of them. 

 

So many of his honest discussions with Dan lead to arguments nowadays that he had never even considered the idea that he'd be met with quiet, passive understanding. Sure, the sticky note rules say that either of them can back out whenever they choose, but Dan has never liked the idea of those rules unless they benefit him. 

 

Honestly, the fact that Dan didn't even attempt to persuade him to continue in their tryst has left Phil reeling somewhat. He keeps expecting to turn a corner and find Dan livid, his anger having caught up with him at last. Instead, Dan avoids him. Instead, Dan only fleetingly meets his eye. 

 

Phil lays awake in bed a week after his birthday, the sticky note clutched in one hand. All this time he's been so preoccupied with what he's going to say to convince Dan that stopping is a good idea, that he's never considered how to start convincing himself. Because he's not convinced in the slightest. It's a daily struggle, an hourly struggle even, to stop himself from finding Dan and telling him he had a momentary lapse, and that he doesn't want to stop, not ever. Not until Dan is finally sick of him, and he has no choice. 

 

If he thinks about it too long, the concept of never touching Dan intimately again becomes a searing pain, tightening like a thick, callous rope around his chest. He can't let himself imagine a life without kissing Dan, or seeing him asleep on the pillow beside him, or hearing his soft, pleasured whimpers. It's too much to bear. 

 

To combat the thoughts, Phil just squashes them down, pushing on each one until its a compact, tiny ball of repressed emotion, which he locks away deep inside of himself, leaving him numb. 

  

It hurts. It's agony, to tell the truth. But Phil is not stupid, and dumbstruck by love as he is, he knows that it got to a point where it had to stop.

 

What started out as a lighthearted, if marginally painful, pact between two close ex-lovers, grew, coiling and twisting into a gnarled, cruel, menacing vice hold on each of their lives, dictating their behaviour, ladening meaning into every word they spoke, every action they made. It began to loom over them, casting a dark shadow, driving them to the brink of insanity. It was difficult to see, from under its spell, just how the pact was affecting them, how it was changing them, how it was stealing their happiness.

 

Only something huge could have knocked the sense back into Phil, to shock him out of the hypnosis that Dan's seductive Birthday Sex pact had left him in. It just so happens that something shocking did occur. The trauma of it jolted Phil into rationality. It spun his worldview on its axis, and plunged him into an ice cold sea of understanding.

 

It had been the single worst moment of his life.

 

Six months ago, if you had asked Phil to name his very worst nightmare, he might have said something like 'underwater horse aliens', and laughed. Not being the type of person to dwell on the macabre or horrible, Phil rarely considered his greatest fears. He knows they exist, as anyone does, having lived with their own minds for their whole lives. Phil knows for example that he dislikes long, bumpy car, train or boat rides, as he gets sick. As a child, 'The Gentlemen' - a form of monster from a particularly terrifying episode of Buffy featured heavily in his dreams. 

 

But aside from ghouls, deep water and car sickness, Phil never stopped to consider what his  _actual_ worst nightmare is. Why would he? 

 

As it turns out, there was no need.

 

Laid in bed, the flat dark and quiet, Phil closes his eyes for a brief moment, knowing exactly what he'll see before he does. As his lids close, the image of his very own personal hell flickers into view for the millionth time since it happened right before him. He sucks in a breath, gripping the covers with clammy hands as he's thrust, yet again, straight back into the hallway on that night in November, Kevin's heavy tread following behind him as they walk through the flat, a muffled sound of music playing through the closed living room door. It had been late, Phil remembers; all of his thoughts were anxious ones, terrified of Dan's reaction to Kevin, of how he'd greet him, of what he'd say.  

 

As he'd opened the door to the lounge that night, he'd been praying that Dan wouldn't be in there, that he'd have gone to bed hours before. He was trying not to let this show, of course, trying to act nonchalant for Kevin’s benefit.

 

Opening the door, he'd expected a few scenarios. Maybe that it would be empty, and that Dan would have gone to bed, not bothering to turn off the music before he left. Maybe that Dan would still be awake, and still be drinking, as he had been before Phil had left. Maybe that Dan would be asleep on the sofa, or watching TV. 

 

A Schrodinger's-Dan of scenarios stretched out to infinity behind that closed living room door, and Phil expected to walk in on any one of them, except the one that he did.

 

He’d seemed so small, curled over himself.

 

The floorboards were stained a dark red around him. Some of it was wine. 

 

Some of it wasn't. 

 

There are moments in Phil’s life that he will never forget, no matter how desperately he might want to. Most of them are moments he shared with Dan.

 

1\. Dan, almost shaking with nerves, underneath the arrivals board at Manchester Piccadilly, scanning the hundreds of bustling commuters for the boy he knew only as AmazingPhil until that day.

 

2\. Warm, trembling fingers tentatively reaching for his as they sip sweet, frothy caramel macchiatos in a Starbucks with windows so steamed up that it's like their own little world.

 

3\. A feather light press of cold, chapped lips against his on the Manchester Eye right after Phil points to a posh building in the distance and tells Dan it’s where the Mayor of Manchester keeps his collection of hand painted clogs.

 

4\. Two chocolate-brown, awe-filled eyes staring into his as Phil joins them together for the first time, on his parents’ sofa after Wall-E and burnt toast and a lot of confessions of love.

 

5\. Dan sleeping in Phil’s childhood bed, naked and peaceful and beautiful.

 

6\. A big, pretty smile forming on Dan's face when he wakes up to Phil on top of him, chirping “Mario!” in a giggly, terrible Italian accent. 

 

7\. Dan telling Phil he loves him.

 

8\. Dan telling Phil he doesn't.

 

9\. Dan at the end of the day, exhausted and grumpy.

 

10\. Dan at three in the morning, drunk and mischievous.

 

11\. Dan laughing.

 

12\. Dan crying.

 

13\. Dan, pale and unmoving, covered in broken glass and blood.

 

These are the moments Phil is cursed to live with forever.

 

At the instant he drank in the sight of Dan, crumpled and unconscious, in the centre of their living room floor, Phil's world fell away from him. Time lost its meaning. The air sucked itself out of the room, leaving a vacum in its place. The sounds, smells and tastes of the world around him drained away, like the vibrant chalks of pavement drawings dribble down the drain in a downpour. 

 

Everything became nothing. 

 

He forgot Kevin, instantly. He forgot everyone. His mum and dad, his grandparents, Martyn, PJ, his friends. Every one of them vanished from Phil's mind in that moment, and all Phil saw was Dan.

 

He must have run to Dan. He must have taken him by the shoulders and shaken him. He must have called Dan's name. But Phil remembers none of that. His conscious self was not involved in those decisions, because he was making plans.

 

If Dan was gone, then he’d have to go too.

 

That was the gist of it.

 

There was no logic to the thought, nor any common sense to be found within him that tried to argue something different.

 

Anything but the furious, howling wind of agony that roared in Phil’s ears at seeing Dan this way was drowned out easily. Phil could think of nothing but ending the pain. He knew, in a heartbeat, that he could never live in a world where Dan was not. The pain of even trying would destroy him. So, in the place of that, there was only one thing to be done. 

 

The quickest way would be the one he would choose. The less time he had to spend in a Dan-less Universe, the better.

 

He could jump from something very high, he'd thought. That would be so easy, so fast. He would be with Dan again in no time.

 

And then, somehow, his hands were bracing Dan’s shoulders, and his voice was shouting Dan’s name, and Dan’s head lifted. His eyes, bloodshot and bleary, were blinking as they met Phil’s.

 

He was moving. Breathing. Blinking. Seeing. He wasn’t gone. He was still right here, underneath Phil's hands, which dug so fiercely into his skin. 

 

And that’s the moment, the very second, that Phil knew he had to end this.

 

* * *

 

They should have talked about Kevin.

 

Hah.

 

Pop culture references aside, Phil knows that he wasn’t fair about the Kevin situation from the beginning. Phil had hidden him from Dan on purpose. He couldn’t bear to discuss it with him. It seemed so shameful, so embarrassing. He imagined that Dan would laugh at him. He thought that if he mentioned another person, Dan would see right through him, and scoff at the mere thought of Phil ever being able to feel anything for anyone but him.

 

It would be a reasonable assumption, after all. Phil has never pretended to be anything less than completely besotted with Dan and only Dan, after all.

 

That’s the thing, though, about Kevin. He's an exception, because he  _knows_ about Dan. He knows exactly how Phil feels about him, he knows they used to be together, and that Phil is, and might always be, in love with him. 

 

And he's stuck around, regardless. 

 

Phil had met Kevin on a dating site. He felt pathetic signing up, and even more pathetic once he actually started talking to people on it.

 

He’d had a vague few hours of coffee-fuelled determination one evening last summer, told himself that it was time to stop moping, and to try and move on with his life. He’d opened an account for himself on a lesser-known gay dating website, used a false name and no photo.

 

If they’d been talking for a while and a man asked, and didn’t seem like a total psycho, Phil would send them a photo of himself. His face. Nothing creepy.

 

But while it gave Phil’s self-esteem a boost to talk to these strangers, he felt no desire to actually meet any of them. They were still strangers, just as faceless as his non-existent profile photo no matter how much they tried to find a common connection.

 

It didn't make sense to Phil at first that he wasn't able to make it work, because Phil had met Dan online, after all. Aside from that, practically his whole life is online; he interacts with millions of fans daily through all the social media avenues available.

 

But, as the weeks went on, and Phil's profile matches reached the hundreds, he still found nobody worth more than a twenty minute conversation. It began to dawn on him steadily, as much as he didn't want to believe it, that Dan reaching out to him across the strange, ethereal connection of the internet, was just different. Phil isn't sure what it was that made him give Dan's stupid, random username a second look. He's unsure if it was Dan's photo, or his persistence, or his transparent flattery or over-hyped interest in Phil's favourite films, bands and songs. Maybe it was some weird combination of all of it. Maybe it was something else - some higher level of compatibility he and Dan share that Phil's human brain is unable to recognise.

 

All he knows is, no other online interaction Phil has ever had has been anywhere close to it. It's as if he knew right away that Dan was worth it all. The hours of Skype calls, the immense bills he must have racked up on his parents' account staying online into the wee hours every day.

 

Sure, Phil has some nice, funny interactions with his fans online. But it's not the same, by any means. Phil's fans are this big, happy, excitable swarm of sweet, lovely younger people. They are faceless, nameless blurs of happy, excitable encouragement and positivity. They merge their personalities with him, giving themselves his last name, or integrating his body parts into their URL’s.

 

They are individuals, of course, but Phil doesn’t know any of them. They are a vast sea of funny, cute voices with rosy edited versions of his and Dan’s face instead of profile photos. Perhaps it's insensitive to think of them this way, but Phil can't help it. It doesn't make him love them any less, and if he meets a fan in real life, he treats them with all the affection he wishes he could bestow each one personally.

 

But once they're gone, they're once again lost in the sea of fans Phil sees every day. 

 

Although technically Dan had once swum in those same waters, worshipping at AmazingPhil's feet just as fervently as any of the others do now, he'd never been an indistinct, faceless blur. Phil remembers noticing him right from the start, even if he didn't respond right away. There's always been an invisible cord, pulling him to Dan, loose at first, then growing taut, yanking them together across hundreds of miles, over a plethora of hurdles. 

 

Signing on to the site began to seem futile. As Phil typed out a vague description of his job yet again to a decent-ish looking guy that asked politely what he did for work, Phil knew that it was basically pointless. This guy, who seemed nice enough, did not compare to Dan. Granted, Phil was not expecting to fall so hard for someone on this site that he'd forget about Dan entirely, as that would never happen. But if he was ever going to move on, Phil would at least need to find someone who could hold his attention for longer than half an hour.  

 

 

It finally got to a point where only one man, a resilient knight if Phil had ever seen one, clung on. This man was Kevin.

 

There were times when a whole week would pass before Phil would remember that he never answered Kevin’s polite question. He'd reply with an apology, guiltily expecting Kevin to say 'no thanks', but  the next question would pop up happily minutes later, as though no time had passed at all. 

 

Intrigued by this perseverance on Kevin's part, Phil started slowly paying him some more attention. He revisited Kevin's minimalistic profile page, which gave little away aside from his photo, in which he sat around a campfire with friends, clutching a beer and laughing. Soon, Phil's replies became less infrequent, and their conversations began to transcend the stage of smalltalk, and into jokes, and deeper, more interesting topics.

 

Phil was careful to avoid the subject of Dan at first. This proved difficult, obviously, as Dan is pretty well wrapped around every part of his life. Kevin had more or less given up on asking Phil any specifics about his job, living situation or close friends early on in their conversations, as Phil never answered with more than a vague, ambiguous comment. For this reason, Kevin nicknamed him Mr Enigma. 

 

 

Over time, it became therapeutic, in a sense, to speak to Kevin. The weeks stretched on, and Phil's heartache never got any easier to deal with. Dan was always there, always reminding him of the unobtainable happiness Phil is doomed to crave forever. But then, in the midst of his misery, Phil's phone would buzz, and it would be Kevin, sending him a funny meme, or telling him a snippet of news from his day. Opening up his chat with Kevin became a soothing retreat from reality. He could dip into Kevin-land at any time of day, and Kevin would usually respond within the hour.

 

It didn't take long before Phil started to get addicted. 

 

As a distraction, Kevin was magnificent. He was a whole world of 'other'. He had no connection to Dan whatsoever, and any time Phil wanted to stop thinking about his own heartbreaking torment, he could just type a message to Kevin, and a different world awaited. He couldn’t get enough of learning about Kevin. The prospect of a new, interested romantic partner was thrilling, even if Phil wasn't really ready for one.

 

Kevin has two sisters, he found out, named Rebecca and Sarah.

 

He’s a bartender at a pub near Liverpool Street, and spends his days practising with his folk-rock band Niggling Sensation or watching and writing about arthouse cinema for his film blog.

 

He grew up in the North, like Phil, but on the other side, near Newcastle. He studied film at the University of Warwick for a year but hated it and dropped out to do his own thing. He’s made a documentary before on the culling of wolves in Norway; it won a secondary award at a Norwegian film festival.

 

He’s 29, he has a beard that suits him, and brown eyes that twinkle when he laughs, which seems to be a lot. He’s very laid back, a bit pretentious in his taste in cinema, but well aware of it and able to laugh at himself.

 

He thinks Phil has a gorgeous face, and loves his mad, colourful taste in t-shirts.

 

It took about three months of texting before Phil agreed to meet him in person. They decided on a cinema trip to watch Birdman. Kevin initially said it looked overrated, but he was happy to see it regardless. Fraught with nerves at the prospect of going on an actual date with this man, Phil suggested they head to a bar afterwards because he was sure he’d be an absolute nervous wreck.

 

He’d spent the whole week leading up to the date perpetually about to cancel it. He had to have a self-imposed coffee intervention, because he started getting shaky and sick with a caffeine overload. He barely spoke to Dan all week, terrified that Dan would be able to see it all over his face, and would laugh at him.

 

He tried to remember the last time he’d been on a date that wasn’t with Dan, and couldn't. He was so sure he was going to fuck it up somehow, and that Kevin would never want to text him again. The thought made everything worse, because Kevin was, at the time, his only salvation in the poisonous, swampy depths of his miserable daily life around Dan.

 

He needn’t have worried. Almost the moment that he arrived at the cinema, late because of an ill-timed conversation with Dan as he was halfway out of the door, Kevin had put him right at ease. He’d greeted Phil with such warmth and genuine happiness that it was virtually impossible for him not to relax.

 

The film was entertaining and innovative; Kevin even said he didn’t hate it, which probably meant a great deal, considering what a film buff he is.

 

They trekked over to a bar nearby, and Kevin ordered a stout. Purely because he was so flustered with nerves, Phil ordered the same.

 

He hated it, obviously, as it tasted like bitter, marmitey tar. Kevin noticed him wincing as he sipped it, and laughed heartily. He handed Phil a menu and told him to order what he really wanted, on him.

 

Phil ordered a fruity cocktail and Kevin just smiled at him, happy to see him happy.

 

The bar became a regular spot for them, after that. They went several more times, Kevin joining him in a mission to test every single cocktail on the menu.

 

Kevin tended to order the proper cocktails - an Old Fashioned or a Tom Collins - while Phil preferred the ones with the weird flavoured syrups and silly names. His favourite was the Caraway Kiss, which was bright blue and mixed with something shimmery.

 

One Friday night, after a few too many Caraway Kisses, they’d gotten a little bit too drunk. One fruity cocktail became three, which became two rounds of shots, and Kevin slid his fingers in between Phil's. 

 

The action had Phil beaming, even though it didn't set his nerves alight in the same way Dan's hand in his does. Kevin was a real, true sweetheart. He was patient and kind. He listened to Phil with an intent, sincere gaze, asking him to repeat things if he didn't hear them above the noise of the bar. He asked interesting questions about Phil's interests, and seemed to savour the answers. He bought Phil countless drinks, and always, without fail, told Phil he looked especially good that evening.

 

It was, essentially, impossible not to really like Kevin. He was sweet, funny, and had interesting, clever things to say. He seemed to really enjoy Phil's company for whatever reason, and Phil blushed frequently under his lavished attention. In another life, Phil thought one night, sat across from him in their favourite spot at the bar, he might have fallen in love with this man.

 

The thought is so strange, so alien, that it strikes Phil dumb for a moment.

 

"Freezing up on me again, Mr Enigma?" Kevin laughs at him, rolling his eyes fondly. "I know, I know. Shouldn't have even bothered asking."

 

"Sorry, what was the question?" Phil asks, shaking away his errant thoughts.

 

"I asked who you're living with right now." Kevin repeats, smiling. "Don't worry though. I know I'm not gonna get a clear answer." 

 

Phil feels a stab of guilt as Kevin looks away, sipping his dark, bitter smelling cocktail. It's so unfair, Phil thinks to himself, pressing his nails into his palms. Kevin doesn't deserve to be treated like this, to be out with someone that is so wrapped up in another person that he'll never be able to feel anything for anyone else. He realises, suddenly, sat opposite Kevin, that the reason he's withholding information about his private life is because he knows once Kevin finds out about Dan, he'll leave. 

 

Tears spill from Phil's eyes before he can stop them. Kevin notices, and a look of alarm appears on his face. 

  

“Phil, what’s wrong? What did I say?” Kevin asks, dismayed. He shuffles towards Phil, slipping a big, thick arm around his shoulders. 

 

It was probably the worst idea in the world to tell Kevin about Dan, but for some reason, in that moment, Phil couldn't stop the words from pouring out. And for another, equally inconceivable reason, Kevin hadn't run straight out of the door. He'd just sat and listened to Phil talk through his tears, his arm staying firmly round Phil's shoulders, steady as a rock, just when Phil needed him most. 

 

Phil told him absolutely everything that night. He left out no details, right down to the Pikachu design on the Birthday Sex rules list: 

 

He’s in love with his best friend. He’s been in love with him for six years. He spends every day with him, works with him, lives with him. It never ends, it never stops for a second. Dan treats him horribly, but Phil lets him. Dan might love him back, in a way, but not enough, clearly, or he’d have done something about it.

 

Phil is stuck, he can’t see a way out. He doesn’t want a way out. He can’t tell anyone, and he doesn’t want anyone to know. He wants to leave the situation more than anything, but he knows he wouldn’t do it even if the opportunity arose.

 

Kevin listened quietly, letting Phil cry on him. When the bar closed, he called them an Uber and took them back to his flat. He didn’t do it for sexual reasons, he just didn’t protest when Phil told him he didn’t want to go home.

 

Phil initiated the sex. It must have been weird for Kevin. First, there was a crying, utterly devastated boy on his sofa, unable to take a break between sobs to sip the cup of tea Kevin made him, and then Phil was kissing him, straddling his big, sturdy thighs.

 

He tasted nothing like Dan. He smelt strange, utterly foreign. His beard scratched Phil’s chin, and his big hands were very light, very gentle.

 

“Um, Phil?” Kevin drew back to ask, his brow furrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re gorgeous and I am more than happy to continue if that’s what you want, but… is it what you want?”

 

Phil sat back on his Kevin’s knees, chewing his lip. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well… Kevin shifted awkwardly. “You've spent the last few hours telling me about how crazy you are for this Dan guy. I’m just worried you’re making a mistake. I don't want you to wake up regretting this.”

 

Phil hesitated. He felt nothing like regret, or guilt. Nothing about what he was doing felt like cheating to Phil. He loved Dan entirely, but Dan had said so many times that he doesn’t feel the same. Dan doesn’t care if Phil fucks someone else. Sure, Phil will hate himself for it in the morning, but only because he’s going to spend the entire night pretending that it’s Dan.

 

If he regrets any part of this, it will be for Kevin’s sake. Kevin does not deserve to be used in this way, as a means of helping Phil through his heartbreak.

 

“Does it bother you?” Phil asked in a whisper.

 

“That you love some other dude?” Kevin asked. Phil nodded. “Nah. It’s not your fault. You’ve been dealt a shit hand, no doubt about it. It’s no wonder you’re craving this. Sometimes we just need someone to touch us, just to remind us that we’re worth being wanted by someone, y’know?”

 

“That’s a very… laid-back attitude.” Phil observed.

 

“I don’t really get a big urge to settle down with someone very often.” Kevin confessed, shrugging. “Sure, I really like you Phil. I could’ve seen us being together, but that’s not how it’s gonna work. You’ve got someone else in mind, and that’s not me. So I’m happy to just hang out with you, help you feel better however you need. It’s not like I’m not gonna enjoy myself too.”

 

Phil smiled thinly. “And you don’t care at all that there are no strings attached?”

 

“Are you saying I’m never gonna see you again after this?” Kevin asked, brows knitting.

 

“Well-”

 

“‘Cause I meant it when I said I really liked you.” Kevin interrupted. “I don't see why can’t we just hang out, do stuff together. Go to bars or see films or have sex or whatever. I don’t care that you don’t wanna marry me after. Heck, I don’t even care if you tell me one day that you’ve finally made it work with your Dan.” Kevin shrugged again. “I don’t see why there have to be any rules.”

 

No rules.

 

Music to Phil’s fucking ears.

 

He smiled at Kevin, then began the process of removing his shirt. 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s May before either of them bring up Dan’s birthday. There are a lot of things to distract them both from it, in all fairness. On March 26th, they upload the video that they’ve been dying to release for so long – the announcement of their book and subsequent stage show.

 

It still doesn’t seem real to Phil that he’ll be getting up on a stage with Dan in front of thousands of their fans all over the UK and performing an entire self-made show. But after the video is posted, there is no turning back.

 

The fans, as expected, are frenzied the moment they drop the bomb. The tickets to all of their shows sell out in just a few days. The book gets to the top of so many bestseller lists that Phil loses count. His days become a blur of meetings with excitable executive-types that say they ‘represent them’, and watching dazedly as Dan makes decision after decision about the look, sound, direction and overall state of The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire.

 

It’s died down a little once May rolls around, but there’s a low-frequency hum of anticipatory excitement in the air no matter where Phil treads nowadays. As soon as October rolls around, his day-to-day life is going to be very different from how he spends it now.

 

Phil is sitting on his bed, mulling over this very thing, when Dan walks in, eyes glued to his phone. 

 

“Have you seen these places?” Dan asks, flopping down near Phil's hips. 

 

He shoves his phone at Phil, who takes it, surprised. On the screen is a webpage about an activity venue called ‘Time Run’. He scrolls through the scant information, key words like ‘escape room’ and ‘players’ jumping out at him.

 

There’s a video embedded in the page, which Phil clicks on, intrigued. A montage of five or six people teaming up to solve puzzles in a steam-punky room plays, set to inspiring music. At the end, a woman dressed in period clothing faces the camera, stating: “Time, as ever, is against us.”

 

Phil raises his eyebrows, handing the phone back to Dan. “I think I’ve heard of it, yeah. One of those puzzle-room places you do with a bunch of friends, right?”

 

Dan grins, nodding. “Yeah, you get like five people and they put you in a room with a story, then you all work together to solve the mystery or whatever. I think you have to get out of the room within a certain amount of time.”

 

“Or you get locked in there forever?” Phil jokes, and Dan laughs.

 

“Yeah, like in the Crystal Maze.”

 

“I always thought that!” Phil exclaims, nodding and laughing. “‘Cause if they can’t get the crystal in time-”

 

“They just walk on without them.” Dan finishes, laughing with him. “That show scarred me as a child.”

 

“Same.” Phil agrees, chuckling. “Anyway, what are you showing me this for?”

 

“I want to do it for my birthday.”

 

Phil’s stomach drops; his smile disappears in a second.

 

"Well," Dan corrects himself, oblivious to Phil's reaction. "it's one of the things I want to do. My Grandma also bought you and me tickets to see Matilda in the West End on the day after." 

 

Forgetting the Time Run thing for a split second, Phil's eyebrows lift in surprise. "She did?" 

 

Dan nods distractedly, scrolling through the webpage on his phone. "Yeah. Should be good."

 

"That's..." Phil says, floundering a little. "Nice of her. Did she say the other ticket was for me?" 

 

Dan snorts, glancing at him for a moment. "Well, no. But I'm pretty sure she bought two tickets knowing who I was likely going to take." 

 

Phil nods, his cheeks warming a little. He tries not to think too much about how each of his and Dan's family members perceive their relationship. In all likelihood, Phil reckons they probably try not to think about it too much either. A 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' kind of policy. 

 

"I should thank her." Phil says weakly. 

 

Dan shrugs, batting the thought out of the air with his hand. "I'll pass on your gratitude." He closes his phone, then looks up at Phil, eyes gleaming again. "So? Whaddya think about Time Run?"

 

“Oh, um...”

 

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“It’s just…” Phil bites his lip, wondering how to go about broaching this tricky subject. “You, me… locked in a room together on that day…”

 

“With three or four other people, yeah…” Dan prompts, one eyebrow still raised.

 

Phil sighs at him. “Is it really a good idea?”

 

Dan scoffs. “Whatever happens it’s gonna be you and me alone somewhere together at some point, Phil.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket crossly, and Phil chews his lip some more. “Everyone would have to go home eventually, even if we just had something here for the thousandth time. Then it would be just you and I, locked together in a room, just like every fucking day of our lives.”

 

“Actually…” Phil starts to say, then takes a breath, bracing himself for an attack. “I was thinking I might… not be here.”

 

“Not be here.” Dan repeats, emotionless. “On my birthday.”

 

Phil nods unsurely, trying to gauge Dan’s reaction to this information from his expressionless face.

 

“You’re a fucking great best friend, Phil.” Dan says, his voice so soaked in sarcasm it comes off as a sneer.

 

“I just thought it might be a good idea for the first time after we stop the birthday se-”

 

“What's a good idea?” Dan interrupts, snarling. “You leaving me on my own? Deserting me on my birthday because there’s no need for you to get me off any more?”

 

“Dan, don’t be ridiculous-”

 

“It’s not ridiculous!” Dan shouts, going red. “Don’t act like I’m being crazy, I hate it! You fucked off and left me on your last birthday, now you’re doing it again on mine! You clearly just don’t even wanna be around me on our birthdays anymore-”

 

“Can you blame me?!” Phil can’t help crying out, though he regrets it immediately, of course. Dan deflates a little, caught off guard by Phil’s defensive comment. “I don’t mean that. It’s just that our birthdays are… hard to deal with for me. They’re gonna be even harder now.”

 

“No shit!” Dan spits out, eyes shining with tears. The sight of it stuns Phil to silence; he hasn’t seen a single emotion from Dan in regards to the Birthday Sex since January. “It’s not gonna be easy for me either, Phil. You can’t dominate all of the sadness piled up between us just because you’re the one who’s so desperate and in love. I have feelings about it too.”

 

“I-I know you do-” Phil tries to say, but Dan cuts him off.

 

“It’s very convenient, isn’t it, that you had your fun with me on _your_ birthday before you decided to call it off.” Dan says through his teeth, eyes still glistening. “You knew from the start that it’d be the last time. I was just blindsided with the information that it’d never fucking happen again after it was already over.”

 

“Would you rather I told you I wanted to end it after fucking you on _your_ birthday, Dan?” Phil asks, his voice unusually scornful.

 

Dan jerks backwards like Phil shoved him, and for a moment they just stare at one another. Phil breaks first, as he always does.

 

“Look, I don’t have to go away.” Phil acquiesces. “It was just an idea. The puzzle room thing looks fun. It’ll distract us from all this… stuff.”

 

Dan doesn’t say anything at all. He moves his gaze to Phil’s bedcovers, pressing his lips together until his mouth becomes a thin, pale pink wound slashed across his chin.

 

A few minutes pass, and then Dan stands and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

_Tock! Tock! Tock!_

“That fucking clock is driving me insane!” Dan shouts, hands over his ears as he paces the tiny room.

 

Phil clasps hold of the chain around his neck, on the end of which is a comically large clock face, loudly ticking down the seconds they have left.

 

It’s true that the longer the noise goes on, the more Phil thinks he can feel it reverberating through his bones.

 

“It’s pretty annoying.” Wirrow says quietly from the corner. The poor guy has ‘I wish I was literally anywhere else’ tattooed across his face.

 

Everyone in here does, actually. Christ, this had been a terrible idea and Phil had sensed it from the start.

 

“How long do we have left?” Bryony asks in a pained voice, sitting on a lab stool by a counter, her palm pressed to her forehead.

 

Dan stalks over to Phil and grabs hold of the clock roughly, yanking it so hard towards him that Phil jerks forwards too. “Ten minutes. For fuck’s sake.”

 

He drops the clock like it’s burning him, and Phil stumbles back, heart pounding.

 

“Okay, let’s regroup, maybe if we-”

 

“No, shut up Adam, we don’t have time to start something new.” Dan cuts in, hurling a glare in Adam’s direction.

 

Adam and Bryony exchange an eye roll as soon as Dan turns away.

 

“We could just keep doing it your way-” Phil pipes up in a timid voice, and Dan whirls around to face him, his glare fiery as he pins it on Phil.

 

“No we fucking _can’t,_ Phil.” Dan scolds. “Because _you_ went and fucked up the whole system by suggesting we try pressing all those buttons on the control pad, and now, thanks to you, the letterbox sealed itself over!”

 

“I just thought it might be taking too long.” Phil protests weakly, though at this point he doesn’t know why he’s bothering to argue.

 

The room they’re in is kitted out like a laboratory, and when they’d first arrived, bubbly and excited to ‘escape’ it, a funny guy dressed like a mad scientist had locked them inside.

 

The first half hour had gone by without too much of an issue. There were little puzzles that needed solving to release each of the beakers, which all contained a colourful liquid. There were four beakers in total, according to the mad scientist, and when combined in the spiral-glass lab equipment on the workbench, they would release a key to the door.

 

At the moment, they have three beakers. Purple, green, and yellow.

 

The fourth beaker was a little trickier to discover, they’d quickly found, though Dan had been convinced he knew exactly how to get to it.

 

There was a gold letterbox over on one wall, and underneath it, a small table was covered in worksheets. On each worksheet, a different experiment was written, along with the ingredients needed to conduct them. One of the ingredients on the list was missing on each worksheet. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that through reading the method of the experiment on each worksheet, they could discover a riddle. Solving the riddle gave them the missing ingredient, which they then wrote into the blank space, and posted through the letterbox. 

 

There were about twenty worksheets overall. It was a long, arduous process or riddle-solving, which had never been Phil's strong suit. Soon, he began to grow worried about how long it was taking to get through all the riddles. A worry which was worsened by the fact he was wearing an enormous, ticking clock. 

 

Halfway through the pile of worksheets being solved, Phil had decided to voice his concerns.

 

He suggested that they try something else as well as the riddle-solving, and that way they’d double their chance at finding the final beaker. He’d been eyeing up the colourful, light-up control pad ever since he got in the room, which winked enticingly at him from the corner. It made sense that there would be multiple ways to discover the beakers, after all, surely. That way there'd be more chance of winning. 

 

Phil was largely ignored by the others, who were too deep in their puzzling to listen to Phil's concern. So, with no objections to be heard, Phil went over to the control pad and began pressing buttons to see what would happen. Wirrow, having also grown tired of the riddles, sidled over to help him. 

 

A minute or so passed of nothing happening, and then Phil jabbed a big, blue button near the edge of the pad.  Suddenly, the letterbox that Dan and the others were posting riddles through sealed itself shut.

 

All of that had been about five minutes ago.

 

“Dan, cool down, there’s got to be another way.” Bryony tells him, sounding like an annoyed mother.

 

“How do you know?” Dan cries, gritting his teeth. “Maybe that _was_ the way to win and now we’ve failed! _Failed!_ Eleven year olds can solve this shit, Bry!”

 

Dan kicks a lab stool and sends it skittering across the floor.

 

“Dan!” Bryony chastises. “They watch everything we do in here! Stop being such a twat.”

 

“I can’t believe you fucked this for us, Phil!” Dan cries out, ignoring her completely. Phil opens his mouth to protest, but finds he has no words. It basically is his fault, after all. He should never try to fix anything, or have any input in situations like this. His mind is too strange for logic-based activities. “Now we’re stuck in this fucking tiny room until the time runs out. We were doing so well!"

 

Dan kicks the stool again, his hands clutching at his head. Phil watches him anxiously, concerned about how worked up he's getting over something so trivial.

 

"Now it’s just you and me, in here, together, not allowed to touch or do anything ever, ever again and-”

 

“Hey, uh, we’re here too, Dan…” Bryony pipes up, and Dan rolls his eyes. 

 

“You know what I mean.” Dan grumbles, then slumps into the lab stool he kicked a moment ago.

 

Phil is silent, his eyes on the floor. Bryony absolutely doesn’t know what he means. But Phil is beginning to suspect that this isn’t really to do with losing a stupid game of Escape The Room.

 

“If we’d just kept doing it my way, everything would be fine.” Dan says to nobody, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

Phil looks over at him, feeling the familiar squeeze around his heart.

 

_Tock! Tock! Tock!_

Isn’t this stupid game over yet? He feels like he’s been in this tiny, enclosed room forever.

 

They warn you before you go in that if you suffer from claustrophobia, or get at all panicky in small, confined spaces then you’re advised not to enter. Phil hadn’t even paid attention to the warning. But he realises now that he’s been trapped in a small, confined space for years. Alone, with a boy who might either love, despise, or be totally indifferent to him, depending on the day.

 

He hates it in here. He’ll try anything to get out, but everything he does just seems to make everything worse.

 

He feels his eyes sting with tears, and panics, blinking rapidly. He can’t let all of his friends see him crying. They’re so oblivious to what's really going on, beneath the surface of all this drama constantly surrounding he and Dan, and Phil envies it. They might be uncomfortable right now, in the face of Dan’s anger, but at least they aren’t riddled with the guilt that comes with being the cause.

 

Phil would trade places with Bryony, Adam or Wirrow in a heartbeat. He can’t stand this feeling any longer, of hopelessness and shame, though he feels like it’s all he’s had inside of him for six years.

 

He feels eyes on him, and he focuses all of his attention on the clock round his neck, which he turns over and over in his hands, purely to give him something to do.

 

Suddenly, there’s a sound.

 

_Ding!_

Phil recognises it, as do the others, as the sound of a puzzle solved. Phil lifts his eyes cautiously to the source of the noise, and sees Adam, over by the cage of stuffed ‘lab rats’ – a feature they had inspected briefly, and concluded was purely decorative.

 

Adam holds a beaker filled with blue liquid in front of himself, his expression grim. “Can we get out of here now?”

 

* * *

 

 

After they’ve left the Time Run building, Bryony, Dan and Wirrow bombard Adam with questions about how he discovered the final beaker, laughing about how they’d lost all hope of ever getting out of there in time.

 

Phil stays quiet. He hears Adam telling them about how he did it, but he doesn’t care. He’s relieved to be out of that place, obviously, as they all probably are. It doesn’t matter how it happened.

 

“So, shall we grab some food?” Dan asks the group, pulling out his phone, presumably to check the time.

 

“Sure.” Bryony says hesitantly, though she doesn’t sound pumped about the idea.

 

The others agree as well, all of them treating Dan with a wariness that he doesn’t seem to register even slightly. Phil swallows, his fingertips burning with the desire to just get away from this whole disaster of an evening.

 

An errant thought swims into his mind, then: Why doesn’t he just get away from it?

 

He has no obligation to be here. There are no more contracts forcing him to stick to Dan's side today, or to make Dan’s birthday as special as it can be. He's having a terrible time, and there's almost certainly no chance of it improving if Dan's behaviour in that room is anything to go by, so what's stopping him from just leaving? 

 

Slightly stunned by his own indifference to the idea of just going home right now, Phil pulls out his own phone, and opens his Uber app.

 

The others don’t notice him doing it. They stand in a huddle nearby, discussing their options for a suitable restaurant to go to, debating the sorts of food they're looking for, and the distances they're willing to travel for it. The idea of trekking along with the group, going in to a restaurant and being forced to sit for hours through a meal, talking and joking and keeping up a pretence of cheeriness right now makes Phil feel queasy. 

 

He clicks 'request Uber' without another thought. 

 

"I do love Wahaca." Dan says to Phil's right, and there are noises of agreement from everyone else. 

 

"Mexican does sound pretty fucking good." Adam joins in.

 

"Also, they have the most incredible passionfruit vanilla mojitos." Bryony adds with a groan of appreciation. 

 

"Cool. Settled then?" Dan asks to no one in particular. 

 

A message pings up on Phil’s phone.

 

_Your uber driver is 2 mins away._

 

The sight of the little message is enough to relax the tense muscles in Phil's shoulders and back. He pictures himself in the back of that Uber in just two minutes time, headed back home on his own, free of further responsibility. 

 

"Phil, Mexican?" Dan asks, turning towards him. 

“I actually think I’m gonna head home.” Phil answers breezily, turning towards the road running alongside the Time Run building, scanning the cars driving down it for the license plate of his Uber.

 

Everyone stops speaking, turning to look at him. Phil can feel all of their eyes on him, shocked at his statement, but he couldn't care less. He's so tired of having to keep up this front of being fine for Dan's benefit. He hasn't been fine for a long time now. He doesn't need to hide it anymore. Let them stare. Let them speculate.

 

He's tired, and he wants to go home.

 

“What?” Dan asks him after a moment or two. “We’re getting dinner.”

 

“I know.” Phil says carefully, glancing over at Dan. “I’m not hungry." Phil can feel his eyes drooping as he takes in the hard set line of Dan's jaw. "I’m actually just really tired. Maybe the stress of being a guinea pig for the afternoon wore me out.”

 

It’s a joke, sort of, but nobody laughs, and Phil wishes he hadn’t even tried.

 

“Poor thing.” Bryony says, moving to put her arms around him. “Are you feeling ok? Maybe you’re coming down with something?”

 

Dan gently pulls Bryony back by the shoulder and stands in front of Phil, looking completely bewildered.

 

“He’s fine.” Dan says dismissively, not even sparing Bryony a second glance. Then, in a lower voice, he asks Phil: “What are you talking about? You can’t just go home, it’s my birthday.”

 

Phil sighs at him, defeatedly. He has absolutely no energy to fight about this. All he wants is to climb into bed, remove his contact lenses, eat something snack-y and watch Buffy until he falls asleep.

 

“I’ll see you at home.” Phil tells him, and as if by magic, his phone buzzes in his hand.

 

_Your uber has arrived._

Dan sees the message too, and balks at it, mouth open. Phil waves to the others, calling out a vague goodbye, then walks towards the road, seeing his Uber flashing its hazards by the kerb a short way up. 

 

He doesn’t look back as the car drives away; he can deal with Dan’s fury later, when he’s less beaten down. Right now, he’s just too tired.

 

* * *

 

Phil wakes up when the front door slams. His bedside light is still on, and his glasses are askew on his nose. There’s an empty bowl and spoon which used to contain cereal on his bedside table, and his laptop screen has the message ‘Are you still watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Continue: Yes/No’.

 

He shuts the lid of his laptop, blearily, and swallows thickly when he hears footsteps climbing the stairs.

 

He considers hiding the bowl underneath his bed, but then considers that Dan’s probably already really mad, so it’s hardly going to matter if he sees Phil’s stolen his Crunchy Nut again.

 

Just like Phil knows he will, Dan knocks on his bedroom door. Then, just as predictably, he opens it before Phil can answer.

 

Dan walks in with a sway in his step, one hand on the handle to steady himself.

 

So, Phil deduces. He’s drunk. Again.

 

“Hey, you’wake?” Dan asks with a slight slur.

 

Phil considers not answering; after all, the question is pretty stupid. He’s either awake or the sight of Dan is a terrible nightmare he’s having. Actually, maybe the question isn’t so stupid.

 

“Yeah.” Phil replies anyway, because he feels at least ninety percent sure he’s conscious.

 

“Wanna talk ‘bout what happened?” Dan asks him.

 

Not really, Phil thinks. He shrugs, and Dan seems to take that as a yes, so he invites himself in the room and sits down on Phil’s bed.

 

“I can’t believe you left.” Dan says at once, looking genuinely dumbfounded at the idea. He shakes his head as though it’s unfathomable. “You just got in a car and went. I kept thinking you’d come back, but you didn’t.”

 

“I was tired.” Phil says after a moment.

 

Dan snorts. “Bollocks. You were mad.”

 

“No,” Phil sighs, settling back against his pillows. “I was tired. Not sleepy. Just tired of being…”

 

Dan waits for a while, then prods him in the leg, over the covers. “Of being what?”

 

Phil meets his eyes for a second. “Of being wrong?” Phil shrugs. “Of feeling like I disappointed you somehow, again? I don’t know.”

 

“That’s not how it is, Phil.” Dan says, sounding cross.

 

“Are you really gonna pretend like you getting mad at me in that room was all because I pressed a stupid blue button?” Phil asks scornfully.

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “I told you I have feelings about this too, Phil.” He screws his eyes shut. “I can’t help it if they come out at weird, inconvenient times.”

 

“You could just talk to me about it, like a normal person.”

 

Dan laughs. “Have you met me?”

 

Phil can’t help laughing too, though it feels odd. “Unfortunately.”

 

“I don’t know how to deal with this shit, Phil.” Dan groans, curling forwards and burying his head in the covers.

 

Phil tries not to think about how close Dan’s face is to his crotch; he probably doesn’t realise.

 

Maybe it’s because it’s late, and Phil has no idea of the time. Maybe it’s because Dan is being honest with him for once, and even though it’s just because he’s drunk, it’s endearing nonetheless. Maybe it’s just because Phil, despite everything, still really wants to touch Dan all the fucking time.

 

But his hand reaches for Dan whatever the reason, and his fingers comb through those soft, straightened tufts. His thumb runs over the short, soft bristles where it’s been shaved right above his ears. He feels Dan relax under his touch, sinking into the mattress.

 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Dan says into the duvet. He lifts his head up to look into Phil’s eyes. He looks so sad, like a puppy sent out into the cold. “I thought I was dealing with this pretty well, but it’s my birthday and all I wanna do is kiss you.” Phil’s hand freezes atop Dan’s head. “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s making me a crazy person, and all I’m doing is driving you further away.”

 

Phil swallows. There’s an enormous surge of desire inside of him, almost winding him in its ferocity. It tells him, urges him desperately, to just yank Dan up by his waist and kiss him until he’s happy again, until there’s a smile replacing the tortured look in his sweet brown eyes.

 

He manages to resist, barely, but only by forcing himself not to move a muscle.

 

He tries in vain to remember all of the reasons why he said he shouldn’t do that ever again, but in the face of everything, they all seem incredibly trivial.

 

“Dan…” Phil whispers, muscles straining as he wrestles with his own longing.

 

“I know,” Dan moans, miserable, “I know you don’t want to. You don’t want me anymore.”

 

Phil looks up at the sky, trying to block out Dan’s words. If he lets them in, they’ll rip a new hole in his heart, and then it will collapse in on itself, along with any willpower he has left to resist.

 

“It’s not that.” Phil grits out. “Dan, why the fuck didn’t you talk to me about this sooner?”

 

“What would have been the point?” Dan asks, incredulous. “It’s pretty obvious. I treated you like shit for too long, and now you’ve seen sense. You don’t want me anymore. I can’t blame you. Anyone else, anyone less completely _wonderful_ would have stopped wanting me fucking years ago-”

 

“That’s not the reason, Dan!” Phil cries out, moisture clouding his vision as he looks down at Dan. “For fuck’s sake, why do this now? We’ve had so long to talk about this, if we’d just discussed it at the time I could have told you the reasons I wanted to break it off!”

 

Dan pauses. He moves out from underneath Phil’s hand slowly, his face pale. “Oh God. It’s someone else, isn’t it?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve found someone else.” Dan states, jumping to the conclusion like it’s some kind of reverse life raft. “Is it Kevin? Have you fallen in love with him?”

 

Phil stares at him, utterly bewildered by the workings of his peculiar brain. “No, Dan.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t make me say this, Dan.” Phil begs him, eyes pricking with tears.

 

“Say what?” Dan asks, frowning.

 

“You know what.” Phil answers. Dan just stares blankly, so Phil takes a deep, shuddering breath in. “I didn’t want to end the Birthday Sex because I stopped loving you, or stopped wanting you. I did it because it’s fucking ruining my life. And yours.”

 

Dan is quiet, processing this information. “You think it’s ruining your life.”

 

“ _Think?_ ” Phil repeats. “No, I _know_ it is, Dan. It’s ruining both of our lives. Yours too! How can you not see it? You set out all these rules and followed them religiously because at first, it suited you. It didn’t matter if it didn’t suit me, because that’s never what this has been about, so you were allowed to have me, and Cat, and no consequences to anything you did. But then, the second I used the rules to my advantage and not yours, you ended up almost _killing_ yourself! Just because I went on a date with someone else! It wasn’t against the rules for me to go out with Kevin, so there was nothing you could do except turn your frustration on yourself, and look what fucking happened!”

 

“Okay, you are twisting that up a _lot._ ” Dan scoffs, shaking his head side to side.

 

“Am I? Or am I just telling you what it’s like from my side?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You never once think about any of this from my point of view.” Phil accuses. “This entire time, the Birthday Sex set up has been about your benefit. What the fuck do I get out of this? What did I ever get out of it?”

 

“You got to… to…” Dan flounders, cheeks pinkening.

 

“Fuck you?” Phil finishes, eyebrows raised.

 

“To put it bluntly, yeah!” Dan fires back with defiance, still red. “That’s what you wanted, Phil! Don’t act like you didn’t want that, because we both did!”

 

Phil presses his mouth together. “Maybe." He acquiesces. "But I don’t want that anymore. Not on its own.” Phil looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “It’s sad, Dan. It’s so sad.”

 

Images of empty beds in the light of morning flash through Phil’s mind. Cold indents in the pillows, stray brown hairs, hands slipping out of his in the dead of night. Scrubbing at his skin in the shower, trying desperately to rid himself of the feeling of Dan’s touch.

 

“Sex isn’t worth anything on it’s own.” Phil continues. “It _means_ something when I touch you.”

 

“It means something when I touch you too.” Dan protests, sounding childlike. He crawls towards Phil, bringing his face nearer, curling his fist into Phil's pyjama top. 

 

Phil shakes his head. “It’s not the same." He murmurs. "I wake up still in love with you the next day. You wake up and wash away the memory of me in your morning shower.”

 

Dan shakes his head, denying it, though he must be able to see the truth in Phil's words. Stubborn as ever, Dan climbs into his lap, refusing to acknowledge he's anything but right about this. Phil wants to push him off, but his addled, exhausted brain seems to have forgotten how.

 

His hands, his body, his heart - they all seem to have forgotten how to reject Dan, if they ever knew at all.

 

“I’ll show you you’re wrong.” Dan whispers, and then Phil is being kissed.

 

Phil kisses him back, and hates himself. For months, he’s been telling his stupid, lovesick brain that he’ll never have this again, and he needs to stop wishing for it. But now, Dan is right here, in front of him, on top of him, and it’s awful, it’s horrible, but it’s a fucking miracle too.

 

Phil makes a whining sort of noise, not meaning to let it escape. Dan’s hands come up to cradle his face, holding him still as he pushes their mouths together with insistence.

 

Everything is quiet apart from the soft, slick sounds of their lips against one another, and the rustle of Dan’s clothes against the bed sheets.

 

Phil breathes him in; he smells just like he always has, of cinnamon-flavoured virility, a sensual amalgamation of exotic, rich musks. Nothing else compares to it. No matter how many candles he burns, or how many fruity gels he smears on his skin in the shower, the lingering scent of Dan never really leaves Phil’s nostrils, reminding him time and again of its owner, and how unique he is in comparison to anyone else.

 

The smell intoxicates Phil, hypnotising him into a trance of submission under the sudden, unexpected attack of Dan’s lips and tongue.

 

He feels Dan rubbing against him, stirring his arousal into life without difficulty, and he whimpers against the kiss, pushing up into the sensation.

 

“See, Phil,” Dan murmurs contentedly, slightly breathless now, “we can’t live without this. We don’t need to.”

 

The words penetrate Phil’s lust-addled brain, pushing into it like pins would a pin-cushion. They don’t feel right. They don’t make sense, and Phil wants to shake them away, suddenly.

 

He grabs Dan’s shoulders, pushing him backwards. “Stop.”

 

Dan blinks at him, dumbstruck. “Did you wanna be on top?”

 

“No, stop this.” Phil says again, shaking his head. “Doge. Whatever.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen at the sound of their safeword. “What’s wrong?”

 

“What’s _wrong?_ ” Phil asks, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of such a question. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Dan! I told you that. And you’re just ignoring it.”

 

“But-” Dan starts to say, but Phil isn’t having it.

 

He pushes Dan off him and stands up, too terrified of his own weakness to trust himself to be on the bed with Dan right now.

 

“No, you _said._ We said.” Phil says, stalking over to the chest at the end of his bed and rooting around inside. He finds what he’s looking for with ease, and brings it out, holding it high for Dan to see. “Look, right here, it says that if either of us want to stop, we can. I want to stop. But you’re not letting me.”

 

Dan looks like he’s been slapped in the face. He stares at the sticky note in Phil's hand, awed and totally perplexed by it. “You… kept that?”

 

Phil deflates a little, having forgotten that he fished this out of the bin after Dan dramatically chucked it away.

 

“Well…” He shrugs, not knowing how to defend his actions. “Yeah. It just seemed like… it was too big of a thing to just throw away. I don’t know.”

 

“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Dan asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… there’s a reason you couldn’t let go of the stupid rules list.” Dan says knowingly, leaning back on his hands. “It’s because you don’t actually want it to end.”

 

Phil stares at the sticky note, Pikachu’s happy little smile faded now, but still visible if he looks closely. His and Dan’s handwriting crosses over each other in places, the loops of Phil’s large lettering infiltrating the space of Dan’s tight, scrawled words.

 

He hates this fucking thing. He has no idea why he kept it. It had just felt so dismissive for Dan to throw it away. It had hurt to watch him do it, so Phil had undone his action, tucked the note away somewhere he wouldn’t have to see it, and continued on with his life.

 

His fist closes around the scrap of paper, crumpling it into a ball. He stares at Dan, levelly.

 

“Don’t tell me what I want, Dan.”

 

Dan looks afraid, perhaps because he’s in unknown waters here, with Phil standing up for himself for once. Phil doesn’t give in though, despite Dan not moving an inch, still in the centre of his bed, tipsy and wanting.

 

Instead, Phil walks out of the room, his fist still closed around the note, and goes to make some coffee. It’s probably in his best interest not to go back to bed tonight.

 

* * *

 

 **From: PJ**  
**To: Phil**  
**13:47pm**  
We need to talk about it Phil

 

Phil stares at the text PJ sent him for the thousandth time. He stirs his coffee, yawning. The text came through weeks ago, but Phil hasn’t replied yet. He can’t fully acknowledge that his close friend knows such an intimate, shameful secret about him.

 

What is he supposed to say to PJ to defend himself? There’s no excuse for his stupidity. He has no explanation to offer that will make what he’s been doing with Dan for the past four years any less moronic and destructive. All he has are the many idiotic, love-blinded decisions that he’s made, and a hefty bout of repression regarding those decisions.

 

PJ is going to want more than that. He’s going to want a full play-by-play of exactly what the fuck Phil has been thinking for all this time. He’s going to want a justification for the ludicrous little tryst he’s stumbled upon.

 

But Phil has nothing to offer PJ. And he hasn’t the stomach to be berated for his stupidity just yet. He knows that the dreaded conversation with PJ about all this will happen someday, but he’s more than happy to postpone that for as long as possible.

 

After all, it’s not like Phil is unaware of the catastrophic mess he’s gotten himself into.

 

A couple of minutes tick by as Phil thinks about all this, unmoving by the kitchen counter. He sips his coffee, takes a deep breath, then taps out a reply to PJ.

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: PJ**  
**23:35 pm**  
I know. Just not yet. Sorry.

 

Once it’s sent, Phil pockets the phone and tries to forget about it. He won’t look at it for the rest of the night. Avoiding one’s problems is getting to be a speciality of his.

 

* * *

 

A short while later, Dan finds him in the living room, looking sorrowful.

 

“Go to bed, Dan.” Phil sighs at him, massaging his temple with one hand.

 

“Phil, please don’t hate me.” Dan whines, dropping onto the couch beside him. “I’m a fucking idiot, I know I am, I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Phil lets his eyes fall closed, wishing himself somewhere else. “I don’t know what to do here, Dan.”

 

“Just… we can work it out.” Dan says firmly, one hand shooting out to grab Phil’s upper arm. His palm is warm and clammy. “I'm sorry I tried to..." Dan bites his lip, eyes darting indiscreetly towards the direction of Phil's bedroom. "Look, I won’t do that again, okay? I know you want to stop the Birthday Sex, so we’ll stop, I swear. We can just go back to how things… to how they were before- before, um…”

 

Dan trails off, and Phil knows it’s because he can’t remember a time when things were ever good between them at the same time as being platonic. That dynamic has never existed in their relationship.

 

The thought plunges Phil into an ice bath of freezing, painful reality. Perhaps his and Dan's relationship will never work that way. It might be that they just don't function as friends and nothing more. Maybe Dan had been right about introducing occasional sex into the equation; maybe that’s what has helped them to keep up some sort of pretence at being the Dan-And-Phil team everyone knows and loves for this long.

 

Phil won’t do the Birthday Sex anymore. Dan won’t be with him romantically.

 

Does that mean that there’s nothing left for them?

 

“Phil?” Dan asks tentatively, his voice quiet.

 

Phil opens his eyes slowly, feeling like there’s only one thing to do now.

 

“I’m going away for a while.” Phil says, his voice coming out strange; it sounds almost disconnected from his body.

 

“What?” Dan asks in a high pitch. “N-no, wait, Phil let’s talk about it. I’m sorry I tried it on with you, fuck, I just don’t know how to deal with my own shit- but I’ll be better I swear, I promise-”

 

Phil grabs hold of Dan’s wrists, looking him in the eyes. “Dan. This is for the best. We’re both to blame for this shit situation. You're going to Sweden tomorrow anyway. While you're gone I'll find somewhere else to stay. We need some time apart.”

 

A desperate, mewling noise leaves the back of Dan’s throat, and he tears his wrists free of Phil’s grip, throwing his arms around Phil’s neck in the next second.

 

“Don’t leave.”

 

The words, soft-spoken though they are, are ice cold swords plunging into Phil’s back. His mind whispers to Dan everything that he wants to hear. That he never will, and that he will be there whenever Dan needs him, always. His mouth stays quiet. 

 

Instead of trusting himself to make a verbal response, Phil prises Dan’s arms from his neck, stands up, and walks to his room to pack a bag. After a while, he turns some music on. Anything to drown out the sound of Dan’s crying.

 

* * *

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: PJ**  
**00:00**  
I changed my mind, now is  
great. Can I come over?

 

 **From: PJ**  
**To: Phil**  
**00:01**  
Now? Are you alright?

 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: PJ**  
**00:02**  
I’ll be in Brighton by 9am  
tomorrow

 

 **From: PJ**  
**To: Phil**  
**00:15**  
Ok, I’ll meet u at the station

 

 **From: PJ**  
**To: Phil**  
**00:16**  
Don’t do anything crazy

 

* * *

 

You can see the sea out of PJ’s spare bedroom window. Phil stares out for a long time, calmed by the gentle ripple of the waves, and the peculiar, shrill squawk of the gulls.

 

“Do you want a cup of tea?” PJ asks, making Phil jump.

 

He hadn’t heard PJ come up the stairs, but he’s leaning in the doorway of the bare, blue and white bedroom, watching Phil in a way that makes Phil think he might have been there a while.

 

“Sure.” Phil answers, trying to give PJ a smile.

 

“Sophie’s gone out for a bit.” PJ tells him, his face unreadable. “Let’s have a chat downstairs.”

 

PJ walks away before Phil can say anything. He doesn’t want to follow PJ down the stairs. He knows what awaits him if he does. Tea flavoured guilt and shame as PJ lays into him about the stupidity and lunacy of the way he’s been living.

 

The way he and Dan have been living.

 

Phil follows him anyway, not knowing what else to do. He’s here now. He can’t escape talking about this forever. At least PJ isn’t so disgusted by what he’s done that he’s ceased wanting to be friends.

 

Phil hopes that’s the case, anyway.

 

He pads down the carpeted stairs softly, his stomach in knots. He’s glad Sophie isn’t here to witness him like this. He’s managed to avoid seeing her so far.

 

He walks into the pretty, artsy kitchen, where PJ is boiling the kettle, putting out two matching Adventure Time mugs for them on the counter.

 

PJ has a lovely house. It’s him in every way, and it's Sophie too. Their quirks and interests seep into every piece of furniture. The many, unusual and beautiful knick-knacks are clear representations of each of their personalities. Phil is jealous of it all.

 

PJ and Sophie’s relationship is enviable in its simplicity. In many ways, Phil thinks of them as the heterosexual mirrors of he and Dan. PJ has never been one to publicly announce details of his private life – mostly because he finds it boring to talk about reality when fantasy is so much more fascinating to him – but his fans speculated on the nature of his and Sophie’s relationship once they caught wind of it, and PJ never confirmed or denied anything they said. They are so unquestionably a happy, loved-up couple that their fans don’t care that it's 'unofficial'. They just accept PJ and Sophie as a pair without a second thought. The house PJ films in is Sophie’s house too. If PJ goes to an event or a convention, his Tiny Planet Explorers will not be the least bit surprised to see Sophie by his side.

 

Why is it so much more difficult with he and Dan? Phil wonders miserably. Why is it that instead of unconfirmed but implied romance, he and Dan just have a mess of half-lies, cover-ups and denial? Aren't YouTube couples like Sophie and PJ living proof that it could all be so much more simple? They make it look so easy, but they have no idea how lucky they really are. 

 

Then again, it's likely that neither Sophie nor PJ would ever let their relationship become something so toxic, even if they were to break up one day.

 

“Normal tea?” PJ asks without turning around.

 

“What’s not-normal tea?” Phil enquires, confused.

 

His mind is going a mile a minute thinking about everything. He’s barely slept all night, either. Dan’s crying had kept him up at first, and then, once Dan had gone to bed, Phil had stayed awake in a partially coffee-induced trance of anxiety about leaving him in the flat in the early hours of the morning.

 

After texting Kevin his troubles for a while in the wee hours, Phil had managed to nod off for a short while, fully clothed on his bed. He’d slept restlessly though, never sinking too deeply, and having disconnected, unsettling dreams. All of them featured Dan, of course.

 

PJ chuckles at Phil’s bewildered expression. “We have elderberry tea, green tea, camomile, licorice and cinnamon-”

 

“Eugh.” Phil can’t help but say. “That sounds gross.”

 

“It’s actually amazing, but I agree it sounds weird.” PJ tells him, turning to face him with a smile. “I’m guessing you just want ordinary, then?”

 

“Please.”

 

“Milk and two sugars?”

 

“Impressive.”

 

“I keep all my friends’ tea preferences in top priority memory storage.”

 

“I knew you were part cyborg.”

 

“Duh.” PJ says, smiling at Phil joining in their usual silly banter. “Getting my upgrade next week.”

 

“Oh?” Phil answers breezily, finding a certain relief in sliding back into this easy back and forth with his old friend. “What kind of upgrade?”

 

“Dance.” PJ deadpans, making Phil snort. “Swing, Tap, and Break, to be specific.”

 

Phil lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Impressive.”

 

“Gotta keep myself finely tuned, Phil.” PJ says seriously, pointing a teaspoon at him. “You know what they say. A well oiled machine is the key to ungrinding the gears.”

 

Phil laughs, rolling his eyes. PJ begins to whistle as he bustles about preparing their tea, so Phil wanders over to the table and sits down. He feels heavy, as though gravity were pushing down on him a little more forcefully than normal today.

 

At any moment he expects the wooden chair to buckle beneath his frame, and for him to sink into PJ’s chequered linoleum floor.

 

As he sits there, Phil drifts into a sort of trance, his eyes relaxing their focus as his mind pours away all coherent thought.

 

It’s odd to think that he’s all the way here, when only eleven or so hours ago he was sat with Dan on the sofa back at the flat, the two of them trying to muddle through. He’s still unsure why he came here of all places. He figures it’s mostly because PJ is one of the few people that knows about all of this, and is offering concern.

 

A minute later, PJ sets two mugs of tea down on the table, taking a seat opposite Phil. He wears an expression of worry on his handsome face.

 

Here goes, thinks Phil wearily, drawing one of the mugs towards himself.

 

“How are you holding up?” PJ asks, sipping his tea. It makes Phil wince; surely it must be too hot to drink yet.

 

Phil shrugs. “Fine.”

 

PJ sighs at him. “Phil, you didn’t come here to talk to me about how fine you are.”

 

“So I’m miserable.” Phil shrugs, his voice blank of emotion. “You knew that already, right?”

 

PJ shakes his head. “No. I don’t know anything. I found something that made me very concerned written on a post-it at your party. But you’re going to have to fill me in on the rest.”

 

“I don’t know where to start.” Phil admits, eyes stinging.

 

“Let me take a stab, then.” PJ says gently. “You’re having sex with Dan.”

 

Phil cringes, eyes flicking away from PJ’s. “Not anymore.”

 

PJ nods quietly, processing. He sips more tea. “You’re in love with Dan.”

 

The sound of it from someone else’s mouth is unbearable. It seems such a silly, transient excuse for the way he’s been behaving. Ordinary people don’t surrender their sanity just because they love someone. If Sophie broke up with PJ, would he agree to anything as insane as hooking up with her on their birthdays? Phil seriously doubts it. PJ is one of the smartest people he’s ever known. What must he be thinking of Phil right now?

 

A tear falls from Phil’s cheek, landing in his tea, causing a tiny, tan, ripple effect.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” PJ says, looking a little awestruck. He pauses, seeming not to know what to ask next. “How long?”

 

Phil lifts his eyes to stare at PJ across the table. The question seems absurd, but then it’s so easy to forget how isolated he and Dan make themselves from their friends. Their relationship is so personal, so private, despite a portion of it being blasted across the internet every day.

 

Their friends are always on the periphery, even close friends like PJ. He might not have ever had any real idea about what he and Dan were to one another, even when they were dating.

 

“Since I met him.” Phil admits, seeing no point in continuing to keep PJ in the dark. He thinks back to those early days of Dan, and realises he’s not being entirely honest. “Before I met him.”

 

“How’s that work?”

 

“I was in love with him even when we were only strangers on the Internet.” Phil confesses, his heart aching for that naivety of his youth, when Dan’s name meant only butterflies and secret smiles behind his computer screen, and boundless romantic dreams of the future.

 

“Were you two… together?” PJ asks, seeming to deliberately not want to look Phil in the eye.

 

Phil can’t help but smile, seeing the faint blush colouring PJ’s cheeks. He nods. “For a bit. A year or so.”

 

“What was that like?” PJ asks, tilting his head in what appears to be genuine curiosity.

 

Phil is a little flummoxed by the question. He blinks a few times, trying to work out how to answer it. He brings the mug of tea to his lips with shaky hands, throwing his mind back into memories he replays daily, of he and Dan, happy and together, before every day became an endless, painful struggle.

 

“It was…” Phil begins quietly. “The best.” He shrugs, at a loss for words. It goes without saying that his time with Dan as a couple was the best time of his life. “Perfect. We were so happy. For a while.”

 

PJ studies him with a creased brow, looking unconvinced. “Really?”

 

Phil looks confused. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

 

“You guys didn’t have problems?” PJ asks, sipping tea. “You were the perfect couple?”

 

“Well…” Phil shrugs one shoulder, disliking the question immensely. “I mean, it wasn’t _always_ perfect obviously, but-”

 

“Did you have fights?” PJ prompts, face neutral.

 

Phil feels himself getting annoyed. Other, darker memories of that blissful period five or so years ago swim to the surface. Dan crying, lots. Dan hating his University, hating his course, his lack of friends, and clinging to Phil like a life-raft.

 

He’d spend entire weeks in Phil’s flat, desperate to be anywhere except his awful, cell block room in his dormitory. He’d get annoyed at Phil for letting him skip classes, or for not being around enough, or for being around too much.

 

It had become apparent pretty quickly, as soon as Dan had moved to Manchester, that his issues of self-hatred and consequent fiery temperament were much worse than he let on. Dan would frequently change moods at the drop of a hat, making it difficult for Phil to predict. He remembers never knowing what he’d find when he came home – if he’d be greeted at the door by his loving, happy boyfriend, or be dragged into bed for hours of addictive, incredible sex. On the worst days he’d come back to his flat to find Dan sitting in the dark, snivelling and scared, or playing video games with his headphones on, ignoring Phil completely.

 

Yes, they fought. Sometimes they fought so much that it broke Phil’s heart a little, but it never mattered. If anything, seeing how fucked up Dan was only made Phil love him even more.

 

Besides, the good times outweighed the bad, without a doubt.

 

“Sometimes.” Phil answers, gritting his teeth a little. “Why?”

 

He can’t help the question. It seems so out of the blue for PJ to ask about this stuff. It was so long ago, back before any of the actual bad stuff even happened. It has nothing to do with the note PJ found.

 

He feels annoyance simmering in his blood. This isn’t cool. The last thing he needs is for the few actually happy memories he has of Dan to be sullied by half-forgotten, irrelevant arguments they might have had way back when.

 

PJ doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, after a while, he sighs. “I’m just trying to understand, I guess.”

 

“Understand what?” Phil asks, a little cross still.

 

The corner of PJ’s mouth twitches, as though he’s amused by Phil’s irritation.

 

“Why you agreed to this.” PJ answers gently, his eyes softening. He reaches a hand halfway across the table, but makes no move to connect it with Phil’s.

 

Phil doesn’t say anything. He drinks some tea, trying not to cry.

 

“Like, you’re in love with him.” PJ acknowledges, leaning back in his chair and nodding thoughtfully. “I get that much. But I find it hard to believe you can still want something so badly that you’d put yourself through this hell for so long. I mean – granted, I’m not in love with him – but… Dan’s just a guy. There’s a billion other guys. He’s not this perfect thing that nobody will ever match up to, y’know? Unless…”

 

“Unless?” Phil asks, eyes glazing. PJ doesn’t get it, he’s starting to realise. He’s never going to understand.

 

PJ hesitates, seeming worried about what he’s about to say. “Unless you’re… idealising what the two of you had.”

 

Phil almost drops his mug in surprise. “What?!”

 

“Listen, I know that’s a hard thing to hear-”

 

“Are you joking, Peej?” Phil asks, affronted. “Two minutes ago you weren’t even completely sure me and Dan were ever _in_ a relationship, and now I’m ‘idealising it’?”

 

“You said yourself it wasn’t perfect.” PJ reminds him, and Phil scoffs.

 

“Nobody’s relationship is _perfect._ ” Phil protests. “You and Sophie aren’t _perfect_ , but you’re still happy, I assume.”

 

“I never said mine and Sophie’s relationship was perfect.” PJ says calmly, shrugging. “Far from it. But we’re very aware of our issues, and we discuss them honestly with each other.”

 

“So, what are you saying?” Phil asks.

 

“That it’s possible you’re lying to yourself.” PJ tells him. “I’m assuming you’re here because you’ve had enough of this crazy friends-with-benefits plan or whatever Dan has ensnared you in, right? You want out?” PJ asks, and Phil, angry though he is at hearing this, nods his head. “Exactly. So, I’m just trying to make it easier for you to do that. You’ve got to disillusion yourself from this fucked up situation. The reality is that Dan used you, and is still using you. He’s a sick person, and he’s tortured you with that sickness for years.”

 

“He’s not.” Phil whispers, though for some reason PJ’s cruel, horrible words sound like logic in his, deep, confident voice.

 

“Ask yourself this, Phil.” PJ says, leaning forwards across the table. “Whatever you two had at the start. A year of semi-blissful romance. Was it really, _really_ worth going through what you have been?”

 

Phil swallows, tasting bile. He fucking hates PJ in this moment. He hates every word falling from his stupid, plush mouth.

 

Oh God, Phil thinks to himself, his blood draining from his face. What if PJ is right?

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t stay at PJ’s. He’d left the same day, not even spending one measly night there. He hadn’t seen Sophie at all, as he’d run out of there before she got back from wherever she’d been. He feels bad, but he doesn’t have room for any more guilt, so he’ll have to remember to apologise next time he sees her.

 

It’s better she didn’t see him, in a way. Now her image of him won’t be tainted with the state he’s in now.

 

He’s on the train back to London, but he has no idea what he’s going to do once he gets there.

 

It was stupid of him to leave PJ’s really, because he knows that the guy was only trying to help. He’s frightened for Phil, he’d said as much as Phil was halfway out of the door. He’d pleaded with Phil to stay, offered him a chance to explain the situation better, told him that there’s a possibility he’s wrong about the whole thing.

 

But it was no use. Most of what talking to PJ had done was muddle everything up in Phil’s brain. But in the midst of it all, one thing had become startlingly apparent: PJ _hates_ Dan now.

 

Phil has no idea why he never saw that coming, in hindsight. He tries to imagine being in PJ’s position at that party, finding such a vulgar, horrible object – a list of _rules_ dictating how, when and in what specific circumstances his close friend was permitted to touch the boy he loved.

 

If Phil and PJ’s positions were reversed, Phil is sure he would have been furious. He’d have hated Dan for doing it to PJ, so it only makes sense that PJ hates him for doing it to Phil.

 

Both he and PJ are fiercely loyal of their friends.

 

Dan must look insane from PJ’s position on the outskirts. But that’s just it, PJ’s only looking in from outside, peering through the fogged up glass of his and Dan’s private Starbucks-world. He can’t know all the things Phil does.

 

PJ doesn’t see Dan crying in self-loathing, hating himself for what he’s doing to them both with the Birthday Sex. PJ only sees the bad bits, only sees how it’s affecting Phil. He’d have a different opinion, Phil is sure, if he knew how Dan was suffering too.

 

The train pulls up to London Victoria, and Phil gathers his things together. He stands on the platform, trying to make a decision about where he’ll head now. He could get a hotel room, perhaps. He could call Bryony, or Adam, but there’s always the chance that they’d tell Dan where he is.

 

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and brings it out.

 

 **From: Martyn**  
**To: Phil**  
**16:31pm**  
Everything ok, Phil? Dan called  
asking where u were x

 

Problem solved, Phil thinks to himself with a sigh of relief. He hitches his bag up his shoulder, and clicks onto Martyn’s contact information, pressing ‘call’.

 

Martyn picks up after two rings.

 

“Phil?”

 

“Hey.” Phil answers, slipping through the barriers into the station. “Can I come over?”

 

* * *

 

Unlike PJ, Martyn’s agenda is refreshingly non-existent. Phil expects to be met with a withering look, or a disappointed speech as soon as he walks in the door; instead, he receives a hug, a bowl of soup, and an invitation to watch Mad Men on the sofa with his brother and Cornelia.

 

Neither of them ask Phil why he’s spontaneously decided to show up on their doorstep, and they don’t question why he has a bag with him. While Martyn washes up after dinner, Cornelia sneaks upstairs to put some fresh sheets on the spare bed. She doesn’t ask if Phil wants to stay the night, she just tells him to head up whenever he’s ready, her voice soft and kind.

 

Overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of his lovely family, Phil squeezes a jazzy, beaded pillow as he sits on the sofa, unmoving, and tries not to cry.

 

He doesn’t say much. He tries to focus on Don Draper’s exploits, but it’s a horrible episode. Don’s being so awful to Betty, his wife, and as she smokes silently at her kitchen table, struggling to hold herself together, Phil feels like he might be sick.

 

Eleven o’clock rolls around, and Cornelia rises from the couch, announcing that she will have to go to bed.

 

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” Martyn agrees, checking the time. Cornelia smiles at him, and ruffles his hair on her way out of the room. “I’ll be in in a sec, Corn.”

 

“No hurry.” Cornelia says reassuringly. “Night, boys.”

 

As soon as she’s gone, Phil senses an imminent conversation that he is entirely too exhausted for.

 

“Did you and Dan have a fight, or-”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Phil says in a brisk, hard voice.

 

Martyn pauses, contemplating. He nods. “Okay.” He fidgets with the remote control in his lap. “Is it alright if I let Dan know you’re safe?”

 

Phil whips his head to face Martyn. “Don’t tell him where I am.”

 

The look his brother gives him makes Phil wince. He can sense the judgement radiating off Martyn in waves. What must he think of Phil right now? Childishly hiding from his flatmate for reasons that are so stupid that they can’t even be discussed openly.

 

“I’ll just tell him you told me you’re alright.” Martyn says after a while. “Is that okay?”

 

Phil sighs, squeezing the pillow. “He's in Sweden. Why d’you have to tell him anything?”

 

“He’s worried sick, Phil.”

 

Phil snorts. “That makes a change.”

 

“What does that mean?” Martyn asks, clearly lost.

 

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Phil sighs crossly, throwing the pillow to one side. “Don’t tell him where I am, that’s all I ask. I’m going to bed.”

 

Martyn chews his lip anxiously, watching as Phil lifts himself up from the sofa and heads out of the room.

 

“Night.”

 

Phil doesn’t bother to reply.

 

* * *

 

For five days, Phil doesn’t leave Martyn’s house. Well, apart from a few times, to go to the shop, or once to attend a meeting. PJ leaves two voicemails on Phil’s phone, apologising for saying the wrong thing. Kevin calls him on the third day, asking where he’s been and if he’s alright as he hasn’t heard from him for a while. Dan calls approximately fifty-three times, and Phil loses track of how many texts he receives from him. 

 

Phil doesn’t reply to any of them.

 

According to Martyn’s updates, Dan calls him every day, probably racking up a hefty bill from himself trying to get in touch from abroad. Martyn answers dutifully, listens to Dan’s desperate pleas to know where Phil is, and tells him simply that Phil doesn’t want Dan to find him.

 

Phil is grateful to Martyn for doing this, but he doesn’t thank his brother out loud. He’s exhausted all of the time. He sleeps most of the day, avoiding social media so that he doesn't see any of Dan's updates or photos from his stupid Swedish eSports adventure. He hardly sleeps at all at night. Instead he binge-watches TV shows and long, heavy documentaries about the war and conspiracy theories.

 

Louis Theroux becomes a calming, easy presence, guiding him through culture anomalies and horrific situations far worse than his own. It helps a little, to compare his own life to that of meth addicts, aging porn stars and incarcerated white supremacists.

 

On the fifth day, at around five, there’s a knock on the door. Martyn is home, thankfully, so Phil doesn’t even get up from his bed.

 

Louis is infiltrating a group of swingers, which is pretty amusing. Phil even manages a smile. In the background, he hears Martyn opening the front door, and conversing with whoever is knocking in a serious tone.

 

Then, as chillingly as ice cold fingers trailing down his spine, he hears the unmistakeable sound of Dan’s voice. His whole body freezes. Goosebumps erupt across his skin; his fingers grow numb as they hover over the space bar on his keyboard.

 

He's been in such a haze recently that it had totally slipped Phil's notice that today is the day Dan gets home. Has he come straight here from the airport? Does he know that Phil is in this very room? 

 

He feels as though if he makes even the smallest movement, Dan will realise that he’s here, and seek him out, demanding to hash everything through.

 

After the initial shock wears off, Phil slips carefully off the bed, shutting Louis up by closing the lid of his laptop. He creeps over to his bedroom door, listening intently. He can just about catch the conversation below if he really strains to.

 

“…told you, he’s not here.” Martyn lies, filling Phil stomach with warm, sickening guilt.

 

“I just had to try.” Comes Dan's despondent reply. Phil’s eyes widen, noting the hopelessness in Dan’s voice. “I don’t know where else to look.”

 

“Dan, he obviously doesn’t want to be found.” Martyn tries. “Maybe it’s best to just let him be for now.”

 

“I can’t.” Dan protests. “He’s out there somewhere _hating_ me. I can’t have him hate me.” Dan’s voice cracks on this last word. “I can’t.”

 

“Oh, Dan.” Martyn sighs, his voice pitying. “Look, just… okay, come in for a sec.”

 

Phil’s eyes widen, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from making a noise.

 

“I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll chat about it, yeah?” Martyn says kindly, and Phil kind of wants to kick him. “But then you should go home. Sniffing him out like a bloodhound isn't going to help with making him want to talk to you.”

 

Dan sniffs, and then there are footsteps along the downstairs corridor, followed by the front door closing. Phil curses, knowing he won’t be able to hear what’s being said from here if Martyn takes Dan further into the house.

 

Carefully, Phil pads down the stairs, watching as Martyn invites Dan to sit on the couch in the living room, his back to Phil. Martyn walks out of the room, saying something about tea, and meets Phil’s eyes as he goes. He gives Phil an apologetic shrug, and Phil rolls his eyes.

 

From his position by the stairs, Phil can see into the living area. The sofa that Dan is sitting on faces away from him, so he can only see the back of Dan’s head. He studies it fervently, eyes tracing the short bristles curving into a peak at the base of his neck.

 

His heart starts to beat a little faster; this is Dan. Right here, so close to him. He hasn't caught a glimpse of him in the flesh in five days. That's a long time for the two of them to be apart. Almost every inch of his body aches to move into the lounge and sit by him, even if just for a moment - just long enough to feel the warmth of his body, or to hear one of his deep, heavy sighs up close. He can sense the misery radiating off of Dan even across the six or seven yards between them. That in itself is painful to withstand. It's so much easier to despise him when he's not in the same room. Now, even the back of his head is enough of a tempting reminder of home that it's luring him right back into all the mess. Desperate to squash the temptation to descend back into the nightmare after he's managed to claw his way out, Phil tries to drain those emotions away temporarily.

 

He's spent almost a week accompanied by a chilling, dead numbness. A void in his soul which has until now been filled with the many, swirling emotions he feels about the boy right in front of him. He dips into that numbness now, pulling it to the surface, wrapping it around him like a protective cloak. He cannot let himself forget what Dan has done, and the reasons that have led up to Phil's decision to leave him for the time being. 

 

It's not easy though. Not when he's sat right there, straight ahead in Phil's eyeline, his shoulders slack and defeated, his breathing quiet as he sits, waiting. 

 

After a while of Phil's marginally creepy staring, Martyn returns with two cups of tea. As he walks past Phil into the living room, he silently raises one eyebrow, questioning Phil's actions. Thankfully, he doesn't reveal Phil's presence to Dan. This is a good move on his part, Phil thinks, quietly contemplating the various tortures he would devise for his brother were he to let slip that Phil has been secretly staying in the room upstairs practically this whole time. It's bad enough that Martyn has invited Dan in for a cup of tea.

 

Speaking of which, Dan takes his mug from Martyn with a muttered thanks. Then, with one final secret glance at the space where Phil lurks, Martyn sits down on the sofa right beside him.

 

“So all this is really getting to you, huh?” Martyn says, sipping his drink.

 

Dan chuckles humourlessly. “You could say that, yeah.”

 

“How bad did you mess up?”

 

Dan splutters, looking at Martyn in surprise. “What makes you think-”

 

“Come on, Dan.” Martyn interrupts with a sigh. “When I’ve spoken to Phil he’s all broken up and teary. You’re a guilt-ridden mess stalking him within an inch of his life. It’s pretty obvious you hurt him.”

 

Dan sniffs loudly, and Phil's heart lurches traitorously. Is Dan crying right now?

 

Martyn places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat. The sight of it makes Phil grit his teeth. 

 

His conflicting emotions are starting to give him whiplash. On one hand, he urges on Dan's silent sobs, as there's no doubt that, for various reasons, Dan deserves to be feeling pretty bad right now. On the other hand however, he aches in Dan’s place, his love for the younger boy wrestling with his common sense, as ever.

 

“Martyn…” Dan says in a voice so quiet that Phil has to lean forwards to hear it. “You have no idea.”

 

Christ, Phil thinks, feeling uncomfortably sorry for him. He’s so obviously drowning in his own guilt. Why is it so difficult to stay mad at him? Dan is in the wrong here, unequivocally. That’s what PJ had been getting at. That’s what everyone who knows about all of this thinks, isn't it? Kevin has expressed his distaste for Dan's actions. Martyn doesn't know the whole story, but he's on Phil's side too, right? 

 

“I think I have a vague idea.” Martyn says unexpectedly, sipping his tea again. “You guys don’t share much, granted, but some things are hard to miss.”

 

Dan fidgets, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of Martyn knowing anything whatsoever. Phil rolls his eyes at this. Dan can always be relied upon to feel awkward and ashamed at the concept of anybody aside from the two of them knowing about their barely-existent romance. His nails dig into his palm as the frustration pools in his gut yet again. Why is it that despite Dan being the one with mountains of insecurity about his own sexuality and romantic interest, that Phil ends up being the one who feels bad about it? 

 

Phil almost lets out a loud, vexed sigh, but catches himself just in time. 

 

“I just need to talk to him.” Dan whines.

 

Martyn sighs at him. “Dan, what would you even say?”

 

“I’d…” Dan flounders, shifting in his seat. “I’d, well, I’d apologise.”

 

“For what?”

 

Dan shrugs dramatically. “For everything. For being myself. For fucking everything up so consistently.”

 

“I don’t think that’s what he wants to hear.” Martyn says gently.

 

Dan freezes, as does Phil. Martyn needs to shut up now, or he’s only going to make things worse.

 

“I can’t tell him what he wants to hear.” Dan says after a long silence.

 

There's a strange, sharp pull in Phil's chest area at hearing this. He's not even entirely certain what it is he wants to hear from Dan, but the news that Dan seems to  _know_ what Phil wants and for some reason 'can't' give it to him is somewhat difficult to stomach. Though he supposes this is not entirely new information, in a sense.

 

“Then you need to go home.” Martyn says firmly, his voice turning a shade colder than it had been. He averts his eyes from Dan's.

 

Dan starts to nod, and in that moment, everything in Phil's mind goes blank aside from the single, slicing thought that he cannot let Dan walk back out of the door. He's only just arrived here. He can't leave so suddenly, Phil hasn't had time to observe him, to get used to his presence again, to make sure he's okay. Before he can think, or stop himself, Phil blunders forwards into the living room, blind except for his own need to make Dan stay just a little longer. 

 

“Wait,” Phil blurts, realising his error in judgement a fraction of a second too late. 

 

The speed with which Dan stands and turns to face him is so great that it knocks his mug of tea onto the floor.

 

“Fuck!” Dan exclaims, eyes darting frantically between Phil and the stain seeping into Martyn’s carpet.

 

“Oh, for Christ’s-” Martyn grumbles as he jumps up and hurries out of the room towards the kitchen.

 

Abandoning the tea situation to Martyn's far superior adult skills, Dan stares at Phil in bewilderment, obviously completely blindsided by his sudden appearance. In the minute or so that follows, a long, uninterrupted silence ensues. Phil has absolutely no idea what to say following his outburst, despite the fact he's instructed Dan to 'wait'. To play it safe and make sure he doesn't say anything more that he regrets, he just stays quiet.

 

Dan seems to be having a similar problem deciding how to proceed. “Hi.” He says eventually.

 

Sticking to his initial instinct, Phil doesn’t respond.

 

“God, Phil I’m so sorry-”

 

“Don’t.” Phil interrupts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t do that.”

 

Guiltily, Dan closes his mouth, his cheeks reddening as he casts his gaze back down to the rapidly growing tea stain.

 

Phil watches him for a moment longer before deciding that he needs to say _something._ Anything. “What are you here for?”

 

Dan’s eyes lift to his again. “To get you to come home.” He mumbles.

 

“I don’t want to go back to the flat right now.” Phil says.

 

It’s not exactly true, as in some ways Phil would love to be back in his room right now, inches from Dan at all points of the day, able to see him and talk to him and touch him whenever he wants. But it's a useless want, because he’d be unhappy again within seconds. It's not worth the pain just to be close to Dan, no matter how much it might feel that way when they're apart. 

 

He has to try and move on, however he can. That’s never going to happen if he carries on circling the same four rooms with Dan every moment of every day.

 

“I won’t do what I did again. Trying it on with you, when you said you didn't want to anymore.” Dan promises, his eyes pleading. “It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.” Phil presses his mouth together, not budging. “Look,” Dan says, taking a step forwards. Instinctively, Phil takes a step back. “I know you want to stop the pact, alright? I get it. It's fine. We can stop. We’ll just live normally together-”

 

“No,” Phil groans in frustration, halting Dan’s speech in its tracks, “you don’t get it. It’s not possible to just stop and still be normal. We can’t live together platonically. We don’t know how.”

 

Dan frowns in bewilderment. “What are you on about? Of course we can.”

 

“We’ve never done it before.” Phil points out.

 

“…Aside from the past four years?”

 

“Dan,” Phil says exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was not platonic. We had sex twice a year for all of that time.”

 

Dan flushes deeply, throwing a nervous look towards the direction Martyn disappeared. “Well, yeah but the rest of the time-”

 

“The rest of the time I was in love with you!” Phil cries out. Dan is a deep shade of pink by this point, and Phil doesn’t care. “Nothing about our relationship has _ever_ been platonic, Dan, and if you think it was, then you’re lying to yourself! I can’t be your friend. I don’t want to be.”

 

A slow, dazed sort of dread clouds over Dan’s expression. His pink colouring takes on a tinge of green. “You... don’t want…to be friends…”

 

“No.” Phil says harshly. “It’s too late for that. It’s too fucked now. Maybe I could have learned to be just friends with you once, but not now. Not after…” Phil trails off, leaving his sentence unfinished. He’s come to terms with Martyn hearing most of this stuff, but there’s one part he just can’t bring himself to say aloud. Their ‘Birthday Sex’ pact is too shameful to admit to. It’s so stupid and immature. “Y'know, I honestly wish I could go back to that night in my bed at Mum and Dad’s four years ago and say no to your idiotic proposal.”

 

Dan swallows, his eyes glistening with tears. He nods. “Yeah. I get why you’d say that.”

 

“If I had, then maybe we’d…” Phil trails off again, sighing through his nose. “I don’t know what would’ve happened. But it can’t be worse than this.”

 

Two fat tears spill over Dan’s eyelids. Phil’s immediate reaction is an incredible urge to wrap Dan in his arms, but he squashes it down under the hurt flooding through his body.

 

“So, what now?” Dan asks in a voice devoid of life.

 

“I’m moving out.” Phil spits without thinking. It's the first thing that comes to his mind. He's unleashed something inside himself, and now that he's started hurting Dan, he can't seem to stop. It's addictive, like a twisted sort of revenge, watching Dan cry at the idea of losing him. “It’s not working anymore.”

 

Dan’s chest shudders as he takes in shallow, shaky breaths. His eyes meet Phil’s, filled with agony. “Please, Phil. Don't."

 

"It's for the best."

 

"I don’t want you to go.” Dan whispers. 

 

“You should’ve thought about that four years ago.”

 

“I _did_.” Dan pleads, stepping towards him again. “I did. All I’ve ever wanted is to make you stay.”

 

Phil can’t even begin to wrap his head around such an absurd statement.

 

“You’ve got a weird way of showing it.” Phil snips, and before he can listen to another word, he turns and walks out of the room.

 

He climbs the stairs two at a time, practically running back to the safety of his little room, and shutting the door firmly behind him. His blood pounds in his ears, and he swallows a thick lump sticking in his throat. He's never left Dan in such a state before. He's never had the balls to walk away and leave him miserable if they're fighting. He always lets Dan win.

 

Not this time though, he thinks to himself stubbornly, climbing onto his bed and plugging himself back into Louis Theroux. He turns the volume up so absurdly high in his headphones that his ears ring in protest, but it drowns out any noise from downstairs, so it works pretty well as a distraction.

 

He loses track of how much time passes, and he pays no attention to the documentary at all. Hours later, or maybe minutes, his screen is dark, as is his room. He pulls the buds out of his ears and listens for a sound.

 

Nothing comes.

 

* * *

 

For the whole of the next day, Martyn is off with him. At first, Phil thinks his grumpiness is due to the fact he’s forced to go out and buy heavy duty carpet cleaner, then spend the whole morning scrubbing the tea stain Dan made on the carpet. It quickly becomes clear however, as the foamy, foul smelling detergent seeps into the fibres, that Martyn’s glares and deep sighs are down to something else.

 

Eventually, probably even more disgruntled by Phil ignoring his mood, Martyn stalks up to the room Phil is staying in and confronts him.

 

“Are you just gonna sit in here forever?” Martyn asks huffily, hands on his hips.

 

Wearily, Phil pulls out his headphones and pauses the documentary he’s watching.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Phil, I’ve tried to be understanding, but I can’t stand idly by as you waste your life away in this room.”

 

Phil sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. “Leave it alone, Martyn.”

 

Martyn splutters, walking over and slamming the lid of Phil's laptop shut. “Tell me what’s going on, then.”

 

Phil narrows his eyes. “I thought you _already knew_.” He pushes the laptop off his lap and hugs his knees to his chest. “Didn’t you and Dan have a long enough talk about it all yesterday?”

 

“Phil,” Martyn starts to say, clearly exasperated, “it would take a fucking secret agent to figure out all the ins and outs of whatever’s going on between the two of you.”

 

“We had a fight-” Phil starts to explain away, wanting more than anything else to shut this conversation down immediately.

 

“You had a fight, right.” Martyn nods impatiently. “That's what I thought too, at first. But everyone has fights. Me and Corn have fights, for crying out loud. Neither of us hide from the other one for days at a time afterwards, and we certainly don’t say things to one another that would make each other run out of the house in floods of tears without a word.”

 

Phil pauses in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up at this news. “He left without saying anything?”

 

“What the hell is going on, Phil?!” Martyn exclaims, ignoring Phil's question. “Have you forgotten you’re supposed to be going on tour with Dan in a few months? You’re going to be in a car with him for hours all day, for _months_!”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Phil fires back, his stomach roiling and churning at the idea of it. “I can’t help that it’s shitty timing, okay? This isn’t my fault!”

 

“ _Right_.” Martyn scoffs.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil cries, outraged. “You don’t even know what this is all about!”

 

“I know that yesterday you told Dan that you were moving out and that you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore.” Martyn points out, and Phil glares. “He was crying, Phil! He begged you. He apologised for whatever it is he did. And you just walked away.”

 

“You don’t know!” Phil cries, jumping up from the bed and jabbing a finger at his brother. He feels hot, scalding tears threatening to spill. “You don’t know what he’s done to me. To us. To everything.”

 

Martyn sighs heavily, visibly deflating at the sight of Phil's defensive stance. Tentatively, Martyn takes a step forwards, closing the distance between he and Phil in three gentle steps. Phil is wary and tense, watching his brother with uncertainty. He flinches as Martyn's hand comes up to rest itself on his shoulder, but relaxes into it after a moment or so. A tear leaks out, splashing Martyn's sleeve.

 

“No, Philly.” Martyn says softly, and Phil wants to whimper at hearing the nickname his big brother once called him when they played together as children. “You're right. I don’t know what he’s done. I can guess, but I don’t _know_.” Phil focuses on trying to calm his breathing, telling himself that he’s safe here. Even if Martyn is angry, he won’t hate him. He won’t stop loving him, he can’t. They're family. “But whatever it is, Phil... however bad it is... is it worth throwing away all that you’ve worked for? Is it worth losing Dan maybe forever?" Martyn pauses, seeming to weigh up the ramifications of saying this next part. "Is it worth breaking his heart?”

 

For a fleeting second, Phil wants to laugh. The absurdity of what Martyn is saying is almost funny, after all. Break _Dan’s_ heart? Phil wishes he had that kind of power.

 

If he could, he’d break Dan’s heart a million times over.

 

He pictures Dan in tears, just like yesterday, begging Phil to stay with him.

 

The image stabs into him like a dagger to the heart, melting Phil's resolve almost instantly. In a moment he knows that he could never really do it. He wants to slap himself for being so weak. It’s horrendous knowing that, even in a fictional scenario, he couldn’t break Dan’s heart if he tried.

 

“He deserves it.” Phil mutters bitterly, wiping away the wetness around his eyes, annoyed by it. He doesn't resist when his brother pulls him into a hug.

 

“He probably does.” Martyn agrees, speaking into Phil’s shoulder. “But that’s what love is, Phil. Forgiving, even in the most unspeakable circumstances.”

 

“What do I do?” Phil whines, eyes stinging as his hands clutch at his Martyn's upper arms.

 

“Go and tell him.” Martyn says kindly, patting Phil on the back. “Tell him you didn’t mean it. Work this out.”

 

Phil draws backwards with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

 

“Do you really think we can?” Phil asks genuinely, meeting Martyn’s eyes. “I mean, I know you don’t know all the specifics, but…”

 

He’s shocked when he hears a laugh from his brother’s mouth, and stares at Martyn in wonder.

 

“Phil,” Martyn says with a smile, placing his hands on either of Phil’s shoulders. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that nothing on the whole of this earth could tear the two of you apart.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil gets back to the flat fairly late. It takes him a while to gather up the courage to call the taxi and head over there. He practises what he’s going to say for ages before he leaves, though by the time the taxi comes (Martyn calls it for him in the end) he still hasn’t much idea of his opening line.

 

He’s still angry with Dan. He knows, deep down, that Martyn is right, and that it’s a temporary anger that will fade over time. He could never actually hate Dan, after all. It’s just that right now, he’s furious with him for ever forcing the Birthday Sex to begin with. He’s angry at the demons that have sunk their claws into the boy he loves – the insecurity, the internalised homophobia, the cruelty. All of them twist Dan’s mind and soul, they push him into doing wicked things.

 

It’s so difficult to remember, in this moment, that Dan is not always his worst characteristics. That underneath it all he’s a sweet, loving, vulnerable and wonderful person.

 

All the way over to the flat in the taxi, Phil tries to hold on to this thought. After all, he doesn’t really want to cease being friends with Dan. That had just been something he’d said out of hurt and anger. In a lot of ways it does seem like being only friends is an impossible mountain to climb, and Dan trying it on with him unexpectedly like he had after the Escape The Room thing won’t make that climb any easier. But it’s becoming more and more apparent that friendship might be all the two of them have left.

 

If Phil doesn’t at least try again to have a platonic – and yes, lovesick – relationship with Dan, then he could lose him entirely. That would be far worse than any other conceivable outcome. He owes it to his own sanity, and likely to Dan’s, to at least give the platonic friendship thing a second whirl.

 

The taxi pulls into their street and Phil’s stomach flips with nerves. He swallows down an acidic taste, thanks the Uber driver, and climbs out. It’s dark outside, and he shivers once as he stares up at their windows, a low light shining out, signalling that someone is home.

 

Phil digs in his pocket for the key.

 

He hasn’t told Dan that he’s coming home tonight. It would somehow be scarier if Dan knew to expect him.

 

The downstairs is dark and empty, so Phil mounts the stairs two at a time. It’s usually Dan who finds the darkness difficult to withstand, but tonight Phil can’t wait to get into the light.

 

He thinks guiltily of the last time he saw Dan, a day earlier, tear-stained and hopeless, pleading with Phil to come home. Well, Phil thinks, almost managing a tiny smile, here he is, his bag on his back. He’s no longer planning on moving out. He’s not sure he ever truly was. After all, where would he go? Dan is the centre of his whole life, whether he likes it or not.

 

If he even managed one day to somehow extricate from himself from Dan-land, there’s not a moment that would pass where Phil wouldn’t miss him with the entirety of his love-starved soul.

 

He gets to the second floor, biting his lip. He wonders where Dan is – in his room, or in the lounge? He opens his mouth to call out, and then it occurs to him how eerily quiet it seems. Usually, if anyone is in the flat, they can hear the front door easily, and definitely know if someone is coming up the stairs.

 

If Dan thinks he's alone for the forseeable future, why hasn’t he come to see who is intruding in the flat? Doesn’t he wonder if he’s being burgled? Phil’s brow furrows, and he slides his bag off his shoulder, walking into the living room. A quick scan of the familiar surroundings tells him its empty, though all the lights are on.

 

He ducks out and heads down to Dan’s room, knocking politely on the door. He waits for a while, then, wondering if Dan has maybe fallen asleep, pushes it open, poking his head around the door. The covers are rumpled and slept in, but the bed is unoccupied, as is the rest of the room.

 

Confused, Phil checks his own room, which is just as he left it – a mess – and then heads down the hall to the kitchen, scratching his head. Has Dan gone out? If so, why would all the lights be on?

 

“Dan?” Phil calls, stopping in the hall to listen out for a response.

 

The unbroken silence stretches on.

 

Phil continues on towards the kitchen, surprised to see the glass door is closed, which never happens, because the two of them are giant clumsy idiots and almost always walk into it.

 

He pushes it open and peers inside.

 

The air catches in Phil's lungs. He feels his blood drain from his body. He gasps for breath as his heart stutters and deflates.

 

No, he thinks. No.

 

_Not again._

 

For a long time he is frozen rigidly in the doorway. His muscles scream at him, trying to urge him towards the unmoving body sprawled on the linoleum. After a while, he manages to push himself forwards, stumbling down on top of Dan, pawing at him, his breaths ragged through the thick flood of tears that are streaming down his face.  

 

"Dan," he chokes out in a rasp, hands cupping his slack face, "Dan, wake up." 

 

Phil's hand moves to cradle the back of his head, and as his fingers brush through the hair there, he feels wetness, and almost draws his hand back, aghast. Carefully, manoeuvring himself around the floor, he lifts Dan's head into his lap, lifting his hand to examine the moisture on it. Dark, thin, scarlet liquid coats his fingers, and Phil swallows down a wash of bile. 

 

"Dan," Phil sobs, bewildered and terrified by the sight of the blood. 

 

Now that he's looking down into Dan's face, he notices a splash of what looks like sick on his chin. 

 

"Not again, not again, not again," Phil whispers under his breath like a mantra, scrabbling for his phone and jabbing at it until he's somehow managed to call 999. 

 

“H-hello?” Phil says into his phone. “My friend, please, he’s unconscious-”

 

“What service do you require, Sir?” The bored-sounding lady on the other end asks. What _service_? Phil thinks, wanting to strangle her for asking something so inane at this time. “I- I don’t know! Ambulance!”

 

“Connecting you now, please hold.”

 

“No! Wait! He’s-”

 

“London ambulance service, how can I assist?”

 

“My friend is unconscious!” Phil yells into the phone, feeling the tears of anguish sting his eyes. He gazes down into Dan’s slack face, not caring that he's crying all over him. Phil drops his forehead to touch Dan's, his heart shredding itself inside of his chest. “Please wake up, Dan. Please.”

 

“Sir, can I have the address you are currently?”

 

Stumbling over his words, Phil manages to spit out their address, and the man speaking tells him that an ambulance is on its way.

 

“Has your friend been drinking?” He asks Phil.

 

Drinking? Phil blinks, barely comprehending. He casts a gaze around the kitchen, bleary and disconnected from any sort of reality. His gaze lands on something on the counter, though it takes a moment for his brain to decipher what it is. A bottle. Almost empty. Familiar-looking. 

 

A bottle of vodka. One they'd been given.

 

“Y-yes, I think so." Phil answers in a horrified whisper. He doesn't want to tell the man, the stranger, on the other end of the line that he knows that bottle was full just a week earlier. Did Dan drink all of that tonight? "I don’t know." Phil says in a scared, timid voice. "I just got in, I found him-”

 

“Do you live with him?” The man asks, persistent with his questions. 

 

“Yes.” Phil says around a sob. "Oh God, this is my fault, isn't it?"

 

If he’d only been here sooner. If he’d only stopped himself from saying such hateful, cruel things last night, Dan might never have drunk anything. He might have greeted Phil at the top of their stairs with a teary, relieved smile. They might be on the sofa right this second, talking about how to make this all work, watching TV and eating dinner, embarking on their new friendship. 

 

An image flashes into his mind, fresh and crisp from the night before. Dan's lifeless brown eyes, tear-flooded and desperate as he begged Phil not to leave him here, in the flat, alone. Another image, just as sickening, flashes up right behind the first. Dan's expression melting into one of raw heartbreak as Phil told him that he no longer wanted to be his friend. 

 

Now, sat in the kitchen with Dan unconscious beneath him, Phil realises the implication of his words. Dan, the boy who spent eighteen years of his life not knowing real friendship. Never understanding what it was to be chosen as a favourite by someone until Phil plucked him out of a virtual crowd. That is the person Phil had chosen to say such a cruel, heartless thing to. 

 

“Oh God, Dan I’m so sorry.” Phil sobs, cradling Dan’s head in the crook of his elbow. His phone slips to the floor, even as the man says something else; Phil is not listening anymore. Careful not to jostle Dan too much, Phil arranges himself so that he's laying down next do Dan on the floor, their faces close.

 

"Hey," Phil says softly, trying to force a smile through his tears and failing. "Hey, Dan." His hands come up to ghost over Dan's shoulders, across the contours of his face and neck. "Listen to me, okay bear? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." A strangled sob breaks through Phil's voice, but he does his best to choke it down. He finds one of Dan's hands and squeezes it tightly in his own, lacing his fingers through Dan's unmoving ones. "Don't worry, okay? You'll be fine. I'm not going to leave you. I'll never leave you. I'm sorry I said that I would." Phil sniffs, more tears spilling over. "I didn't think you'd believe me, you twerp."

 

A strange, half-laugh escapes Phil's throat, and then he's sobbing again, burying his face in Dan's shoulder. "Wake up, Dan. You can't do this to me again." Phil squeezes Dan's hand so hard it would surely hurt him if he were conscious, but he can't care about that right now. "This is a two way deal, Dan. I promise I'll never leave you. _I promise_!" Phil is almost shouting now, one hand gripping Dan's shoulder. "Now it's your turn." Phil begs, sniffing. "Promise you won't leave me, Dan. Promise me you'll wake up."

 

He stares into Dan's closed eyes, willing them to flutter open with all his might. "Dan, please. I love you. I didn't mean it, fuck, I could never not be friends with you. You're all I want, Dan. I don't care how."

 

Minutes pass, the silence undisturbed by everything but Phil's sniffling. He wants to duck his head to listen to Dan’s chest, but he can’t bring himself to do it. What if there’s no sound? How will he deal with it if he can’t hear the steady pounding of Dan’s heart?  "Please, bear. Don't leave me. I love you. I love you so fucking much." 

 

Phil isn't sure when the ambulance arrives, or how they get into the flat. All he knows is that one minute he's curled around the unconscious body of the boy he loves on their kitchen floor, and the next he's being prised off by strong, determined hands as he struggles and screams. 

 

"No!" Phil shouts as someone restrains him, pulling him into a corner as the men kneel over Dan, performing CPR. "No, let me hold on to him! He gets scared of doctors- he hates needles, please just let me hold his hand!" 

 

"Sir, please try to calm down, these men are working to save your friend." 

 

"You don't understand!" Phil sobs, wrestling and writhing in his restrainers arms. "He's all I have. Please, I love him. He's all I have." 

 

In seconds it seems, Dan is being lifted onto a gurney, and a breathing mask is placed over his nose and mouth. Two well-built men in bright, fluorescent jackets lift him down the many flights of stairs and into a waiting ambulance idling outside. Phil forces his way in after them, not listening to anyone that asks if he might be better off staying at home and contacting friends and family. He kneels next to Dan’s makeshift bed, reassuring Dan that he's still right there, because he's promised now, and he's never leaving again. 

 

Giving up on getting any rational answer from Phil, the ambulance doors are closed, and Phil feels a jolt as they start to move. 

 

"I love you, Dan." Phil whispers, stroking Dan's hair. "You're going to be fine." 

 

The rest is all a blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources: 
> 
> Dan and Phil see Matilda The Musical in the West End together courtesy of Dan's grandma (NOTE: I switched the days of this and Time Run because I messed up. Time Run actually happened on the 12th and Matilda on Dan's bday, the 11th. Please ignore my foolish mistake.)  
> \- Dan Howell (2015), "matilda the musical is mindblowingly amazing i want to get psychic powers and live with an english teacher now (ty for the tickets grandma)" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/609112136233684992.  
> \- Dan and Phil Younows (2015), "phil younow - 14 June 2015" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX8Ln0dEwiA, 22:50.
> 
> Dan goes to Sweden for a few days after his birthday  
> \- I can't remember where I got the source but I've written in my notes that it must have been the 13th when he left lol I trust me do you trust me? 
> 
> Dan talks about his birthday being fun but that he did "all kinds of ya know, existential pondering about kind of like death and reflections on the last years of [his] life"  
> \- phanshows (2015), "Dan's younow - June 18th, 2015" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKHTB89wFtg, 6:35.
> 
> Classic Dan miserable bday tweet  
> \- Dan Howell (2015), "ah the annual day of forced reflection on the progress and satisfaction of my life as i move one step closer to death" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/609006017842688000.
> 
> Dan tweets a sappy thank you birthday thing  
> \- Dan Howell (2015), "for real thank you everyone wishing me happy birthday! you make me feel loved and important and i truly appreciate all of you" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/609006285498015746.
> 
> Dan tweets a sappy thank you birthday thing pt. 2  
> \- Dan Howell (2015), "i don't know why two million people are interested in relatable trash and existential panic but thank you all for following me" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/609385849818587136.
> 
> Phil's birthday tweet to Dan (read into this what you will, I choose to see it as a front for his misery ...JK)  
> \- Phil Lester (2015), "#HappyBirthdayDan! @danisnotonfire Currently looking for black balloons and a black cake" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/609003914093047808.
> 
> Dan and Phil went to do a Time Run experience with Bryony and Wirrow (maybe Adam/maybe not) for his bday (please see the note bracketed after the first source at the top of this list)  
> \- Phil Lester (2015), "Just had an amazing time travel puzzle adventure at @timerunldn with @BryonyCloud @wirrow and @danisnotonfire! (We won)" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/609438657083256832.  
> \- Dan and Phil younows (2015), "phil younow - 14 june 2015" [YouTube], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX8Ln0dEwiA, 21:30.


	10. Phil's Twenty-Ninth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan gets his shit together, but not really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things. 
> 
> To all of you who stuck with me through the arduous and very, very long process of me posting infrequent chapters and having last minute hiatuses, you are literal Saints, and I am endlessly grateful to each and every one of you for encouraging me, being patient, and for sticking it out. Thank you. 
> 
> The comments left for me to read on this fic have made me cry on several occasions (happy tears). I read them all obsessively, and if don't respond, please know that I almost definitely welled up/screamed/sent you virtual bear hugs and possibly created a small shrine for you. 
> 
> So thank you, everyone, from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Secondly, I am happy and sad to inform you that this is the penultimate chapter! When I began this fic, I wasn't entirely sure how it was going to go, but I've hammered out the story and I know where it's going to end. 
> 
> After this chapter, which centres around January 2016, there have only been two more birthdays that have passed for Dan and Phil. It just so happens that this fits very well with my plan for how this fic will end, and I like things to have a nice, rounded up finish, so if I can I think I'll be doing an epilogue in honour of the final birthday (Phil's 2017 birthday) which will catch us up to the present. 
> 
> Apart from that, enjoy this chapter, I think we are past the worst of it! I love you all immensely. 
> 
> Oh! and also here's a reminder: Check out the two playlists I made for this fic, you won't regret it:
> 
> Phil's Playlist: http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/158367548987/playlist-for-birthday-sex-a-phanfiction-by
> 
> Dan's Playlist: http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/158369369458/playlist-for-birthday-sex-a-phanfiction-by
> 
> <3

January 30th, 2016 (Phil is twenty-nine)

 

_(Continuing from previous chapter, quite some time before Phil's birthday)_

 

The first thing Dan notices before he opens his eyes is the strong, familiarly sickening smell of disinfectant. It's sharp and acidic in his nostrils, like the hand sanitiser he bought to use during the tour. Not that he expects his fans to be particularly germy, but he doesn't want to risk being sick on the road. Phil is far less concerned about this, and Dan can already forsee becoming a nag about it.

 

Dan hates having to rub the slimy stuff into his palms anyway, so he's probably not going to be the best at convincing Phil. That disinfectant smell is particularly horrible to him; bringing Dan a feeling of dread and uneasy nausea each time he sniffs it. It's something to do with being younger, and Dan gets the feeling he must associate the smell with some kind of traumatic experience, though he can't remember what this might be. Even now, in his half-awake fog, Dan's nose wrinkles in disgust, recognising the awful scent. 

 

The second thing he notices is an extreme, throbbing pain on the back of his skull. At first, as Dan stirs into consciousness, he barely notices it, but as the seconds tick on, the pain worsens until it's so bad that he winces, eyes fluttering open in confusion.

 

His lids are sore and sticky with sleep dust, as though he's been unconscious for a long time. What the heck had he done last night? Drinking had obviously been involved, as that would explain the awful queasiness in his stomach, along with the sour taste on his tongue and the general sense that he’s done something _wrong._

He brings his left arm up to wipe away some of the gunk obscuring his vision; once he can see properly, Dan blinks in surprise, trying to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings. He’d been expecting to see his dark, familiar bedroom in front of him, his desk against the wall where it belonged, his grey plaid covers pulled over his body.

 

Instead, he’s woken up in a bare, white, clean room of mysterious origins. The floor is shiny off-white tile, and his narrow bed has rails on either side of it, kind of like-

 

Oh God, Dan realises a second later. Like a hospital gurney.

 

He looks down at himself, horrified to find he’s dressed in one of those papery gowns, and that his right arm is kitted out with a cannula and a patient ID bracelet. 

 

He wriggles his pale fingers experimentally, his stomach turning at the sight of the IV tube under his skin. The sickness in his tummy takes a sharp left turn into a stabbing pain, almost making him cry out. He breathes through it, focusing on the spot just beside his hand in an attempt to stop the nausea.

 

It's as he looks slightly to the right of his hand that he finally notices another hand, not his own. It's resting on the bed beside his, almost as if it had been holding on to him moments before. Confused by it, Dan tracks his eyes up the arm of this hand to find its owner, and his mouth falls open as he takes in the sight of Phil, slumped in a chair next to his bed, fast asleep.

 

Instinctively, Dan glancing back down to Phil's outstretched hand, marvelling at it.

 

What is he doing here? How did he know to come?

 

Why did he even bother?

 

Cautiously, Dan begins edging his little finger towards Phil’s, heart thrumming as he considers the thousands of things he wants to say to Phil, all of which race through his brain, giving him no chance to settle on one.

 

“Let him sleep, Dan.” A voice says from the other side of Dan’s bed, making him jump.

 

Dan flinches with the pain of being surprised, his whole body screaming at him to stop moving about and rest. Obediently, Dan stills himself as much as possible, his eyes squeezed shut, before turning slowly to see who had spoken.

 

Out of everybody Dan expects to see sat at his bedside in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, his younger brother is pretty low down on the list.

 

“Adrian?” Dan rasps out, only to clutch at his throat in agony. Speaking feels like having claws raking down the insides of his oesophagus. 

 

“Yeah, that’ll be from when they shoved those two tubes down your throat.” Adrian tells him in a somewhat bored, irritable voice. He's slumped in his chair, his phone in one hand, glaring. “You’re diagnosed with severe alcohol poisoning. They pumped your stomach for like an hour.”

 

Dan stares at Adrian, totally bewildered by what he's saying. “Alcohol poisoning?” He whispers, cringing at the pain. “Severe?”

 

“Yes.” Adrian answers in a curt, harsh voice. “You drank a whole bottle of vodka, passed out, and on your way down hit the corner of your kitchen counter and concussed yourself.”

 

The blood drains from Dan’s face; he turns to face the far wall in front of him, trying to process Adrian’s words. He drank an _entire bottle_ of vodka last night? He doesn't remember doing that at all. Though to be perfectly honest, everything from leaving Martyn's house the other day up until now is a dark, blurry void in his mind, peppered with half-memories of sobbing into his sleeves. 

 

How could he be so fucking stupid?

 

“How…” Dan tries, trailing off. He furrows his brow, one hand reaching slowly up to feel the back of his head, which he just now realises is wrapped in a thick bandage. As his fingers press gingerly against the throbbing spot, he flinches. “Ah!”

 

“Yeah,” Adrian sighs, rolling his eyes, “prob’ly shouldn’t poke your fresh, bleeding head wound.”

 

Dan stares at him, still totally perplexed by his presence. “Why are you here?”

 

“Wow, Dan. Love you too.” Adrian growls, still glaring at him. “Thought you might be a li’l happier to know I came to see you _in hospital._ Especially as you got yourself admitted here by being a twat.”

 

Dan swallows, his eyes beginning to smart. Not wanting Adrian to see him cry, Dan desperately tries to utilise a half remembered ‘life hack’ he once read about somewhere online. He opens his mouth a short way and looks straight up at the ceiling. Supposedly, it’s impossible to cry if you do this.

 

To Dan’s total astonishment, this actually seems to work.

 

“Is Mum here?” Dan asks once he’s gotten the urge to break down into noisy sobs under control.

 

“Yeah.” Adrian says, his voice a touch softer now. He still sounds annoyed – a somewhat perpetual state of his, seemingly – but now he watches Dan warily, as though chastened by the sight of watching Dan get his tears under control. “She’s getting coffee… or talking to another doctor… or something.”

 

“Shit.” Dan whispers under his breath. “She must be so worried.”

 

“You think?” Adrian answers, followed by another eye roll. He seems about to say something else, and Dan looks towards him, waiting for whatever biting comment is about to be hurled towards him again.

 

But Adrian seems to think better of whatever he had been about to say, and instead his gaze drifts to Phil, still asleep and curled in the chair on the other side of Dan’s bed.

 

Having momentarily forgotten he was there, Dan turns back towards Phil, gritting his teeth against the various pains and aches that come with this movement.

 

He watches Phil’s slow, steady breathing in silent awe for a minute or so, marvelling at the sight of him, still. He looks adorable, hunched over his own curled up legs and flopped to one side in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. One of his pale hands is reaching towards Dan, outstretched on the bed, and the other is tucked in his lap somewhere.

 

The look on his face is one of discontent. He doesn’t seem peaceful in his unconscious state. Instead, he resembles a child having fallen asleep in the midst of a tantrum or fit of crying, his forehead creased, his lip quivering slightly with every exhale.

 

Dan wants to stay inside of this moment forever, despite all the pain and suffering he’s going through, because in truth his heart is soaring with the knowledge that Phil is here at all. Phil is _here_. He came to Dan’s bedside despite everything he said back at Martyn’s.

 

Again, Dan’s gaze drifts down to Phil’s hand, next to his own. He badly wants to place his own on top of it, IV and all, but he restrains himself. Adrian is right; Phil looks tired. Besides, Dan is in no hurry to speed up the inevitable telling off he’s going to receive from this pretty, raven-haired nightmare.

 

Dan should let him sleep.

 

“He’s been out for a few hours now.” Adrian tells Dan, who doesn’t turn around.

 

“Did you speak to him when you got here?” Dan asks, his voice timid with worry.

 

Who knows how that conversation would have gone; for all Dan knows, Adrian is still mega pissed about all the ‘phangirls’ stalking him on social media. Having already gone through the terrifying experience of having Adrian wring him out to dry for it, Dan's not sure Phil would be able to avoid getting an earful from the younger Howell son. 

 

“Yeah.” Adrian says in a weird voice. He sounds concerned, which is unusual for him to say the least. “He was messed up.” There’s a pause, and Adrian quietens, frowning. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

 

Huh. Maybe Phil did manage to escape a bollocking from Adrian somehow. Dan turns reluctantly back towards Adrian, his brow knitting together in confusion.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Adrian sends Dan a quizzical look. A wide, vacuous silence goes by, which only encourages Dan's anxiety. A thousand terrifying questions spring forwards, each one bringing with it a worse possibility. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms growing clammy. 

 

Adrian is silent, his eyes flicking over Dan's face, seeming to assess something about the situation that Dan doesn’t recognise. “Dan…" Adrian says at last, just as Dan is about to fall off the edge of his seat with excruciation. "Who do you think found you?”

 

As the implication of this question drips into Dan's fog-heavy mind, he feels something inside of himself be sucked out of his body. It's something transient and unidentifiable, but something vital too, something he desperately needs to stay alive. 

 

The thing floats above him, hovering there over the bed, taunting Dan as he struggles for air. It laughs at his pain, it grins in the face of his guilt, watching him writhe about with pleasure. 

 

Then, as quickly as it left him, this ethereal part of him slams back into his chest, bruising his ribs and heart, winding him. He splutters and wheezes, tears pricking his already sore eyes. His throat burns and scalds him as he fights for breath.

 

Phil _can’t_ have been the one to find him. To bring him here. No. Dan won’t accept it.

 

He can’t have put Phil through that. Not again.

 

“No,” Dan rasps eventually; Adrian is sitting up a little straighter, watching Dan in alarm. “No, he- he wasn’t even there." Dan stutters out, sure he's about to throw up. "He can't have found me." Dan states, trying to convince himself more than anything else. "He- he was at his brother’s house. He said he was moving out- that he... that I…”

 

Adrian shakes his head grimly, confirming Dan's worst nightmare with one simple movement. Phil found him. Phil walked in on Dan, unconscious and bleeding, again. Again, Phil saved him. Again.

 

The tears won't be held at bay this time, no matter how many life hacks Dan has read about. Over the next few minutes, Dan tries to force his breaths to slow, fighting with his own horror and shame. He turns to Phil again, biting his lip until he can taste blood. He wants to rip right through the skin. It wouldn't even begin to scratch penance for what he's done. 

 

Phil is still asleep, somehow, oblivious to Dan’s panic attack, but he looks more distressed than he was a moment ago, as though he could sense it even in his dream.

 

In this moment, Dan hates every cell of his own dumb, careless, reckless body. He deserves every piece of the pain he’s feeling in this moment. More. 

 

This means that, for the second time, Phil must have saved Dan’s life. Despite everything. 

 

“What happened?” Dan asks Adrian, eyes glued to Phil's sleeping face. 

 

Tentatively, Dan places his fingers over Phil’s, unable to resist the urge anymore. Thankfully, Phil doesn’t stir.

 

“Apparently Phil came back to the flat really late.” Adrian starts to say after a while. “He found you passed out in the kitchen. You'd been sick, and your head was bleeding.”

 

A vague, hazy memory of throwing up into the kitchen sink dredges itself up from somewhere in the depths of Dan’s brain. Another image follows, of upending the vodka bottle into his mouth, downing gulp after disgusting gulp, trying to speed up the process of obliterating his own conscious thought.

 

He pales, screwing his eyes shut against the memory of his own idiocy.

 

“He called the ambulance for you and rode with you to the hospital.” Adrian continues, making Dan’s eyes fly open again.

 

“They let him ride with me?” Dan asks in wonder, trying to imagine this strange journey, Phil perched in back of the rocky ambulance beside him as they barrelled down the dark streets of London towards the hospital.

 

Was Phil quietly terrified, holding all of his concern inside? Was he angry at Dan, threatening him with all kinds of horrors once he woke up? Was he a sobbing wreck? Perhaps some combination of all three. Dan will probably never know. 

 

Adrian snorts from behind Dan. “I don’t think they were too happy about it, from what Phil said. I think he basically insisted.”

 

Dan’s eyes widen, awed by this snippet of information. “Then what?”

 

Adrian sighs. “Then they brought you here. Phil was pretty sure you’d drunk too much and passed out, but he wasn’t sure, so they had to pump your stomach. Apparently they don’t normally do that for plain old alcohol poisoning.”

 

Dan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Adrian doesn’t answer, so Dan is left to try and figure out what he’s talking about. He always thought that if you got alcohol poisoning, you have your stomach pumped. That’s what happens on TV.

 

If that's just a myth, then what possible reason could they have had for pumping Dan’s? He’d like to know the answer, because his stomach currently feels like a fucking pin-cushion, and his throat is on fire each time he so much as breathes. Not to mention, his mouth and nostrils – which are presumably where the tubes were inserted – feel like battered keyholes.

 

The only other explanation Dan can think of for sucking everything out of someone’s stomach would be if they’d ingested a different kind of poison. Like if someone accidentally drank bleach, or ate a weird unidentified berry, or took a shit load of pills-

 

 _Oh_.

 

Oh, no.

 

Dan’s throat constricts, and he closes his eyes. He hates himself right now, and will hate himself for every moment that follows from now until his demise.

 

Fuck. Poor Phil.

 

“They thought I might’ve tried to kill myself.” Dan realises. It’s in no way a question.

 

“Phil said you’ve been pretty unstable lately.” Adrian comments, subtly confirming Dan’s suspicions. “Honestly I think people are still wondering if that is what happened. I know Mum is.”

 

“Is that what Phil thinks?” Dan asks, horrified.

 

“I dunno.” Adrian answers, huffing an irritated sigh. “What would you think, if you were in his place?” He sounds strange and hostile, evidently meeting Dan’s stupidity with anger. Dan just takes it on the chin; he deserves way worse. “What the fuck is going on with you two?” Adrian asks after a while. “I mean, Phil said you guys have been fighting, but this is pretty extreme.”

 

“The night before he…” Dan bites his lip, still not wanting to believe it. “ ...found me, Phil and I had an argument.” Dan admits, sorely wanting to leave out the detail of that argument. “He said he was moving out. He said he didn’t want to be…” He hesitates. “Friends.”

 

“Never thought I’d hear that.” Adrian mutters.

 

“Neither did I.” Dan replies miserably, and Adrian sighs at him.

 

“Well, he obviously didn’t mean it. I mean he came over that night to talk to you, right? He was probably coming to apologise.” Adrian says, and Dan just presses his lips together, staying quiet because he knows that can’t have been the case.

 

He’s not sure why Phil came back to the flat last night, but it can’t have been for any reason more than just to collect his stuff and go back to Martyn’s. As Phil said himself, Dan has fucked it all up too much to be forgiven.

 

“And besides,” Adrian continues, oblivious to Dan’s thoughts. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

 

“He’ll leave once he knows I’m okay.” Dan says with morose certainty.

 

It’s touching that Phil came, and that he stayed for a while, but Dan doesn’t expect Phil to stick around once he wakes up. The shock of finding your old best friend unconscious on the floor of the flat you used to share must have been pretty awful, but Dan’s okay now, and none of this makes what he’s done to Phil for the past four or more years any less sickening.

 

Phil had been right to tell Dan he’s leaving for good. Dan honestly doesn’t blame him whatsoever, heck – anyone else in Phil’s shoes would have left Dan years ago.

 

In fact, everyone usually does leave.

 

Very gently, he squeezes Phil’s hand, trying with this tiny action to inject how sorry he is into Phil's slumbering mind. There should be awards for the magnitude with which Dan has royally fucked everything up in this once happy relationship. 

 

Adrian’s snort of laughter jolts Dan out of his guilt spiral. “You seriously underestimate Phil’s devotion to you.”

 

Annoyed by his brother’s assessment of a situation he can know barely anything about, Dan looks over his shoulder, shooting Adrian a glare.

 

“What are you on about?”

 

“Dan, they gave you the all-clear like fifteen hours ago.” Adrian says, his voice tinged with condescension. “You’ve been in here for a day and a half. You got here at like midnight on Friday. They pumped your stomach and did all sorts of shit to you overnight. You sort of woke up a little once, but they gave you a load of drugs for the pain you were in, and then you were unconscious for the whole of Saturday. Now it’s Sunday morning.”

 

Dan stares over his shoulder at Adrian, totally perplexed. “…I’ve been here that long?”

 

“Yeah.” Adrian says, eyebrows raised. “Why do you think me and Mum trekked all the way over here to see you?”

 

Dan rolls back over towards Phil, taking in his hunched position, his crumpled clothes, his messy, unwashed hair. “Has Phil…”

 

“Yes, Dan.” Adrian sighs. “Phil's been sat right there the whole time.”

 

* * *

 

Hours pass, and Phil stays asleep. Dan’s Mum comes in and just about has a heart attack when she sees Dan awake and talking.

 

“Oh honey, what have you done to yourself?” She asks him through her tears, her voice just above a whisper so that she doesn’t disturb Phil. “I thought you… I thought all sorts of things, Daniel. You can’t be so reckless!”

 

“I know, Mum.” Dan says over and over, the guilt threatening to drown him alive. “I’m sorry.”

 

Once she’s calmed down, having finally accepted that the thousands of questions she's bombarding Dan with are not going to receive a satisfactory answer right now, she goes off to notify a doctor of the change in Dan’s state. Adrian plays games on his phone through the entirety of her short visit, looking more and more bored and pissed off the longer he has to stay here, considering Dan is basically fine.

 

“Thanks for coming.” Dan chokes out once his Mum has gone.

 

Adrian glances up from his phone screen, scoffing. “S’not me you need to thank.”

 

“Well yeah, I know Mum probably dragged you, but-”

 

“No," Adrian interrupts, pocketing his phone. "I mean it’s Phil you should be thanking. He's the real doting bedside wife in this situation.”

 

Dan swallows, cringing at the phrasing. “Don’t say that.”

 

“What?” 

 

“The doting wife thing.” Dan mumbles, fingers drumming against the scratchy sheet in discomfort. “That’s not what he is.”

 

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “I was only joking.”

 

“Well, don’t.” Dan mutters crossly. “You of all people know we get that shit way too much already.”

 

There’s a long, uninterrupted silence then. Dan can feel Adrian staring at him, but he won’t look back. He feels himself growing pink, and tries not to think about what’s going through his younger brother’s mind.

 

“Oh my God.” Adrian says in a breath. “Fuck-ing Hell.”

 

Dan turns to him in surprise. He’ll never get used to hearing Adrian swear.

 

“What?” Dan asks grumpily.

 

Adrian is staring at him like he’s had some kind of epiphany. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

 

“What’re you on about?” Dan asks, his shoulders tensing at once.

 

“That’s why Phil’s here. That’s why he’s so crazy upset.” Adrian says in an awestruck voice, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I thought it was kind of weird that he didn’t let go of your hand, but you two have always been really close, so- fuck me. It’s all fucking true!”

 

“Adrian, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dan hisses, feeling his hackles flaring up. “Drop it.”

 

“All this time! All those stupid, annoying girls messaging me…” Adrian says, shaking his head to and fro. “I always thought they were delusional. I thought they were inventing something to fuel their creepy fantasies… but all this time they were _right_!”

 

Dan shuts his eyes, trying hard to pretend this is not happening. “Shut _up_ , Adrian.”

 

“No.” Adrian fires back, incensed. “No way. I’m never shutting up again. You _asshole_! Why didn’t you tell me you’re with him? Why don’t you ever let anyone in?" Adrian grits his teeth, and Dan flinches away from the sight of an expression of anger all too similar to one he's seen in the mirror a few times. "I was so confused-" Adrian continues, floundering for words in his fury. "I told innocent teenage girls to go fuck themselves! I screamed at you in front of Mum and Dad! Why did you let me think it was bullshit? If I’d known the truth I- I could've helped you hide it! I could've defended you for fuck's sake! I wouldn't have been so freaked out by it all if you'd just bothered to _tell_ me you and Phil are together-”

 

“We’re not together!” Dan cries out, his face reddening as he struggles to control his frustration. He meets Adrian's accusatory glare with an equally harsh expression, holding his eyes until at last Adrian slumps back into the chair, looking pissed. “God, you’re a fucking child, Adrian." Dan spits out, eyes fluttering closed. "You have no idea about anything.”

 

“So _tell_ me for once.” Adrian says defiantly, pouting. He sticks his chin out, folding his arms. “I get harassed about this,” Adrian gestures between Phil and Dan with a wave of his hand, “every fucking day, Dan. I deserve to know what the fuck is going on.”

 

Dan stares at him, eyes narrowing. He’s ready to fob him off with the same old made up bullshit he tells everyone. The practiced lies are poised and ready on the tip of his tongue.

 

_It's not what you think._

 

_Phil and I joked too much in the past about being boyfriends._

 

_We were too convincing, and everyone started to believe it._

 

_People, especially sexually frustrated teenage girls, just read into things that aren’t there._

 

 _It’s a publicity stunt - gay for pay_.  

 

_It’s an in-joke he and Phil share, a set of escalating dares. Who can be the most convincing at pretending they're a closeted gay couple?_

 

But the lies won’t seem to come. He looks across at Phil, still so pale and fragile all curled up in that uncomfortable chair. Phil never wanted to lie in the first place. He's never wanted to hide how he feels about Dan; the only reason he does it is to keep Dan happy. But it's pointless, because Dan isn't happy even with the lies. He's sick of it. The fabrication has lost it's meaning. Why bother hiding from it any longer, when it's so fucking obvious Phil cares way too much about him for them to be 'just friends'? 

 

Adrian's right. He deserves to know the truth. He gets a shit deal out of this messed up excuse for a relationship as well, and he doesn't even know why.  

 

“We were… together.” Dan chokes out, the words sticking to the insides of his sore throat, reluctant to come out. “Once. A long time ago. Years ago.”

 

“God damn it, Dan.” Adrian breathes, disbelief and anger flavouring his voice. “Why didn’t you _say_? Why the fuck did you ever pretend?”

 

“It was difficult.” Dan protests weakly, eyes stinging. “There was so much to deal with. So many things against us. Or that’s what it felt like, anyway.”

 

“Like what?” Adrian asks, bewildered. “What broke you up?”

 

Dan looks skyward, shrugging. He barely even remembers anymore. It’s like thinking back to a different time zone. A different person. Riddled with personal issues as he is, Dan has to admit that despite everything, he’s much more comfortable in himself now than he was back when he and Phil were together. Back then he’d been a slight, weak, spineless wannabe. He'd been terrified of a mouse, brimming with insecurities and undiagnosed mental illnesses.

 

His anxiety was through the roof back then, and his abandonment issues held him in a vice-grip, keeping him rigid in the face of affection, ready to flee at any moment just so he could get out first, before he was left again. He fluctuated between extreme emotions hourly, which confused and scared him, so he’d take it out on Phil.

 

He became obsessively paranoid about the judgement of other people – whether that was his family, or his friends, or the people in his halls. It only got worse when he started building subscribers. All of those eyes, watching him daily, scrutinising his life and dissecting it, devouring every little bit.

 

Being with Phil brought out a part of himself that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Initially, he’d been at a stage in his life where he thought it was cool and edgy to be bisexual and dress in tight jeans and wear MCR merchandise. But he’d grown out of it fast, and he was left with a sexual preference he didn’t want to have to deal with, so he tried to shove it away, to hide it deep inside himself. Unfortunately, his feelings for Phil were shoved right along with it.

 

It remains, to date, the cruellest and most heartless thing he’s ever done, breaking up with Phil. He’d done it for all the wrong reasons – to maintain an image, to conform to society’s expectations of a young, attractive, white male with a modicum of fame. He'd told himself that it had only ever been a mild infatuation fuelled by a strong sense of idolisation for the successful, creative presence Phil had online. 

 

He'd told himself this over and over again, and though it took a while, he eventually started to believe it. 

 

“No good reason.” Dan answers eventually, his index finger stroking lightly over the back of Phil’s knuckle. “I just fucked it up, essentially.”

 

“So… then what happened?” Adrian asks, sounding confused. “Like, I get that you were together once when you were younger, but… you’ve been best friends and living and working together all this time…” Adrian pauses, and Dan sighs. “Wasn’t that, um… torture?”

 

“Pretty much.” Dan agrees. “Well, we made a sort of… deal. To try and keep things from getting too sad.”

 

Adrian doesn’t ask what this so-called deal is, for which Dan is eternally grateful. “But, I mean… you guys still love each other, right? That’s why all those girls message me and stuff even now.”

 

Dan shifts uncomfortably. “Not exactly.”

 

“Dan,” Adrian says, annoyed by his ambiguous answer.

 

“Phil’s still…” Dan starts to say, then fidgets again. “He’s never stopped feeling, um-”

 

“He’s still in love with you.” Adrian finishes, and Dan can hear the eye roll. “Never would’ve guessed that after he spent literally every second right here holding your hand.”

 

"Yeah." Dan swallows guiltily, resisting the urge to sob. "What an idiot, right?”

 

"I don't get it." Adrian sighs, frowning. 

 

"Me either." Dan agrees, shaking his head in wonder. 

 

"No, not that," Adrian says, rolling his eyes, "I mean _you_."

 

Dan blinks at him, not comprehending. "Me?"

 

"Yeah." Adrian says, like it should be obvious. "Like... he's fucking falling at your feet here. What do you want from him?"

 

"I just want..." Dan bristles, not liking the question. "I want something stable. I want him to be around all the time like normal. I want him to come home and for us to be like we used to be. Before..."

 

Dan trails off, struggling to think of a time he'd actually like to return to in his and Phil's friendship.

 

"Before you broke up?" Adrian supplies, eyebrows raised.

 

Dan rolls his eyes, scowling at Adrian. "Very funny."

 

"I'm not joking!" Adrian cries. "Christ, you're so in denial it's scary." 

 

"What the hell are you talking about-"

 

"Dan, wake up." Adrian snaps, practically growling. Dan closes his mouth, mostly due to curiosity. "Phil's not the only one sickeningly in love." 

 

Dan actually laughs aloud. God, why is everyone he so much as talks to about Phil so convinced that he's head over heels for him? Just because they used to be together doesn't mean-

 

"Look at Phil," Adrian demands, and Dan turns to him reluctantly. "He's been sat in that same fucking chair since they wheeled you in here. He hasn't gotten up once, not even to pee."

 

The information startles Dan so much that he's rendered speechless for a moment or two. His mouth hangs open, no words coming out. "He..."

 

"Mum tried to get him to have a walk around or go get a coffee or something but he wouldn't." Adrian tells Dan, who just stares, dumbfounded. "She kept on at him and he ended up shouting at her, telling her that he had to stay right there beside you in case you woke up. In case you needed him. He told her that she couldn't possibly understand, and that she should know better than to pry him away because you're scared of hospitals and you'd hate it if you woke up alone." 

 

"Adrian," Dan croaks in a pleading voice, his eyes watery. His brother doesn't listen. 

 

"He told me what you fought about, Dan." Adrian says, the words like blows against Dan's stuttering heart. "He told me that he said something he never should have said, and that he was too angry to think about how you'd react. He told me that it's his fault you did this to yourself, and that if you woke up without him, or worse, if you  _didn't,_ and he never got to apologise, he wouldn't be able to live with it." 

 

"Adrian, why are you telling me this?" Dan asks, desperate for him to stop talking. He can't bear to hear the depths of Phil's devotion. He never could. Phil's love for him has always been too much, too suffocating, too overwhelming to comprehend. "I already know he loves me! I already know how much, and for how long, and how fucking miserable it makes him because I don't love him back. I already feel like shit for it, okay? I don't need you to tell me."

 

"No, that's not the point!" Adrian cries, exasperated. "How can you not see this?" Dan blinks dumbly. "It's _you_ who's so crazily in love, Dan!  _You're_ the one that can't think about life without him. _You're_ the one who is so terrified of losing him that you use sex and guilt tripping and fuck knows what else to keep him right where you want him. _You're_ the one that nearly fucking _killed_ yourself after hearing Phil say he didn't want to be your friend anymore in a fight!" 

 

The words ricochet off Dan's thickened skin, meaningless. They skitter around the bright, stale-smelling room, bouncing off the bleach-white walls and floating in the air around Dan's head, refusing to dissipate. 

 

“I don't love him.” Dan tells Adrian in a small, soft voice. "I stopped loving him ages ago." He presses his lips together, unsure why tears are spilling over his eyelids. "Years ago."

 

His hand tightens around Phil's without his permission.

 

“Who are you trying to convince, Dan?” Adrian asks gently. 

 

Dan shakes his head, staring at his lap. He won't let Adrian's words sink in, still. He refuses to acknowledge them, even as they fly around above him, dripping with conviction. 

 

“I don't deserve him." Dan whispers, so quiet that he's not even sure Adrian can hear. "You'd see. If you had any idea of the _hurricane_ of shit I put him through over the years… He shouldn't love me like he does. I can't love him back.”

 

“It's not up to you to decide what he deserves.” Adrian says, sounding far too wise for his years. "He's a fucking idiot if you ask me, 'cause you're practically a hopeless cause, but he loves you, despite whatever you've done. He's so in love with you, in fact, that he hasn't left your bedside despite the fact you guys had a supposedly friendship-ending row, and the fact you're basically fine anyway." 

 

Dan turns to Adrian, eyes brimming. “But how can I be enough for him? All I do is hurt him, I don't know how to- to-”

 

Adrian rolls his eyes. "Just stop being such a fuckwit, for Christ's sake." Adrian groans, and Dan wants to laugh, absurdly. "Stop being a dick to him. Acknowledge the fact you're just as in love with him as you always were. And for God's sake _tell him_. I guarantee it's the only thing he wants to hear." 

 

"I don't think I know how." Dan admits, his teeth gritted. 

 

"Just say it now." Adrian says, exasperated. "Just tell him."

 

Dan opens his mouth, eyes locked with his brother, trying to force the words to come. It's been so long since he's said them that they won't form on their own anymore. He can't look at Phil, it would only make it even harder. He scrabbles around in his chest, unearthing his dormant, buried feelings one by one, stuffed down as they are beneath his miserable, throbbing heart. 

 

The words won't come. 

 

"Dan," Adrian urges, eyes begging him now, "just fucking tell him."

 

The words still refuse to come. 

 

"Tell me what?" A voice says from Dan's right, timid and broken. Dan's eyes flutter closed. Too late. 

 

Fingers flex beneath his own, wriggling out of Dan's vice grip before Dan has a chance to loosen it. Slowly, fearfully, Dan turns to face Phil, who is stretching his limbs out in the chair one at a time, until eventually he's sat up properly, staring Dan in the eye.

 

There's so much in Phil's expression that Dan is forced to turn away from the intensity of it. He imagines he can see every emotion in those blue eyes: anger, joy, misery, betrayal, love.

 

To name a few. 

 

It occurs to Dan belatedly that he has no idea how long Phil has been awake for. He could have been pretending to sleep, listening to every word he and Adrian have exchanged in the past half hour. The thought sends Dan into a panic. His heart skips a beat, and the hairs on his arms ripple, making him shudder. 

 

He looks into Phil's expression again, though it's a lot like trying to stare into the sun. Dan tries to scrutinise him, tries to figure out what he's thinking. Is he stunned? Offended? How much has he heard? 

 

“Hi.” Phil says at last, stunning Dan out of his thoughts. “You look terrible.”

 

Dan blinks at him, blushing faintly. “Serves me right.”

 

Phil cringes at the sound of his raspy voice, one of his hands reaching out towards Dan's neck, then drawing it back at once. “H-how do you feel?”

 

“Rough.” Dan answers succinctly. “And you?”

 

“Yeah. Pretty rough.” Phil agrees, looking down at his knees. He sucks in a quiet breath, closing his eyes. “Dan…”

 

“I’m gonna go get a coffee.” Adrian announces, standing up so fast that the chair screeches away from him.

 

He’s striding across the room and out of the door before either of them can register what’s happening.

 

“Forgot he was here.” Phil mumbles, looking guilty.

 

“Yeah, don’t award him any medals just yet.” Dan grumbles, glad for the distraction of Adrian's exit. Anything to avoid talking about what's actually going on. “He’s done nothing but bitch at me since I woke up.”

 

Phil doesn’t respond, but the pursing of his lips is enough to chasten Dan into wishing he hadn't spoken. Anyone remotely close to him has a free ticket to be mega, super pissed at him right now without any objections from Dan. Especially his family. Even more especially Phil.

 

“Do…” Phil tries to say, seeming to struggle for words. “Do you know what happened?”

 

Dan sighs; his head is pounding. He wishes he could rub his temples to relieve some of the pressure, but knows that moving his arms and head would cause him more pain than it's worth.  

 

“Adrian filled me in.” Dan says, frowning at the memory. He’s been trying not to think about it too much. “I’d tell you how sorry I am,” Dan whispers, fingers plucking at the crisp, scratchy sheet underneath his hand. “But I think the words have lost their meaning a little, at this point.”

 

Phil doesn’t answer, he just shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Dan chews his lip, eyes trained on Phil's every movement.

 

“You don’t have to stay here.” Dan tells him sadly, not meaning it to come out in such a pathetic voice. “I don’t even know why you stayed this long-”

 

“You don’t know?” Phil interrupts, his voice harsh. “Did concussing yourself knock out your memory of the past six years?”

 

Dan blinks at him, not understanding. “No, I just-”

 

“I’m here because I love you.” Phil says bluntly, leaning forwards in his chair. His eyes are shining with defiance. “I scooped you up off the kitchen floor because _I love you_. It’s why I fought my way into the ambulance, and why I screamed at them when they tried to make me go home after visiting hours. Did you think I was just sat here for the kicks? Stop trivialising everything, Dan, jeez! You’re acting like you’re fine! Saying your brother’s a dick for showing up and telling you off, pretending like you aren’t in agony, pretending like you didn’t just almost _die_.”

 

Dan swallows, and God it hurts so much. He squeaks with the pain, eyes stinging.

 

“I can’t deal with this shit, Dan.” Phil tells him, rocking forwards until his elbows brace his knees, head in his hands. He's clearly teetering on the edge of some internal emotional clifftop, and Dan doesn't know how to save him from falling off. “This isn’t fair! I say I’m moving out in a fit of anger and you try to _kill yourself_?! How could you _do_ that to me? How could you, when you _know_ , you’ve _always known_ how I feel-”

 

Dan reaches out, grabbing hold of Phil’s hand. Phil tries to shake it away, but Dan holds tight, gritting his teeth as Phil claws at it, tugging his IV and jostling Dan so much that he thinks he might pass out with the pain.

 

After a minute of this, Phil breaks down into a noisy sob, scooting his chair closer to the bed. He leans forwards, one hand clasping Dan's, and buries his face into the space between Dan’s neck and shoulder.

 

“I thought you were dead.” Phil weeps, his tears pooling in Dan’s clavicle. Dan presses his lips together, trying to breathe through the empathy pain searing through him. “You wouldn’t wake up, and- and I couldn’t make myself see if you were still breathing, because what if you weren’t?”

 

“Shh,” Dan whispers, turning his head so that his mouth presses against Phil’s mop of onyx hair. “Shh, I’m okay. I’m sorry, Phil. I’m okay.”

 

Phil tilts his head up at the touch of Dan's mouth, angling himself until his lips find Dan’s.

 

Dan doesn't resist him. Why would he? Phil is right, he almost died. If Phil hadn't found him, Dan could have slipped off the face of the earth. He'd never wake up again. He'd never post another video, never watch another episode of Game of Thrones. He'd never sit on the sofa with Phil, tilting his laptop screen so that Phil could laugh at a meme he'd found. He'd never again know the touch of Phil's hand, never taste the sickly sweet, springtime flavour of him. He'd never be able too feverishly submerge himself in the sensation of Phil's hands on him, of his body pressing into his own.  

 

He could have lost this forever, all because he's a dramatic and irrational fuckwit with the emotional spectrum of a wooden spoon. He presses back into Phil's frantic kisses, allowing Phil's hands to grip him, fragile as he feels.

 

It's glorious. It's devastating. 

 

Each press of Phil's mouth is more of a reminder that Dan has wasted so much time. 

 

After a moment, Phil pulls away. He sits up straight, wiping his eyes.

 

“I’m not leaving you again.” Phil sniffs, sounding determined.

 

The words are so unexpected that Dan doesn't know how to deal with them. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

 

Sniffing again, Phil sits up, glaring. “It's a little late to warn me about that." Phil says, reminding Dan of what Adrian had said earlier, about Phil's apparent regret for what he'd said at Martyn's. "Look, I've thought about it. We can’t be without each other.” He flicks his gaze over Dan’s body, still wrapped in its papery gown and teal woven hospital blanket. “Obviously.”

 

“Co-dependency isn’t a good life choice, Phil.” Dan says with perfect sincerity. “I overreacted to the idea of you leaving, that's fairly obvious. It's not easy for me to deal with the idea of being..." Dan takes a deep breath. "Apart from you. But honestly... I think we need to consider that maybe it’s better for you to be away from me-”

 

“No.” Phil snaps, glaring. There's a fire in his eyes that silences Dan mid-sentence. Phil's hand shakes a little as he moves it to rest on his knee. He takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again. “This is never happening again, Dan. I won’t risk it."

 

"It won't." Dan whispers, but Phil ignores him.

 

"We’re going to make this work somehow." Phil states firmly, hands gripping his knees. "I don’t care about the specifics yet, we can work it out later. But I’m never leaving you on your own like that again.”

 

Dan is stunned to silence. He’s trying to think of what he can say to make Phil see sense, to show him that the only viable option in front of him is to run, far away, just sprint out of the hospital doors and put as much distance as is humanly possible between himself and the evil human occupying this bed.

 

Before he can think of anything however, his Mum and Adrian re-enter the ward, followed closely by his grandparents and his father.

 

Phil sinks back into his chair again, satisfied that the subject of discussion is over for now. Dan is left to the mercy of his furious and tearful family, who descend upon him like vultures on a fresh corpse.

 

Many, many hours later, or so it seems, Dan is permitted release. Phil still refuses to budge from his side, and so it is him that calls a taxi to escort himself and Dan back to the flat. Dan watches in quiet amazement as Phil shuts down each of his Mum’s many arguments about why Dan should be coming home with her.

 

He doesn't raise his voice once. He is calm and rational in his assurances that he has the situation in hand. He doesn't budge from his insistence that Dan is best in his care, under his hawk-like supervision. Eventually, out of frustration and exhaustion more than anything else, Dan's Mum relents. 

 

“I’ll look after him.” Phil promises her, no hint of insincerity in his expression. “Trust me.”

 

She nods, somewhat reluctant still, but clearly sensing defeat. She stands outside the hospital entrance, one hand lightly covering her mouth, watching with curiosity as Phil wheels Dan out into the carpark, helping him into the car with steady, careful hands. Dan just lets Phil manoeuvre him, sensing that having even this small amount of control over Dan's care is helping him to feel more secure. Dan tries not to react as Phil's hair brushes against his cheek when he leans across to buckle Dan into the seat. 

 

As Phil clambers in beside him, Dan turns to stare out of the window at his Mum, who is staring at the scene in wonder, Adrian at her side. His expression, in contrast, is an urge. 

 

 _Tell him_ , Dan hears Adrian say through some kind of brotherly telepathy. He turns away, gazing at Phil's profile, hands clenching into fists. 

 

"Ready?" Phil asks him.

 

Dan nods, turning away. 

 

His mother lifts her hand in a half-wave as the taxi pulls away from her, and Dan wonders at the thoughts swimming around in her head. He's always tried to actively avoid speculating about how any of his family perceive his and Phil's relationship. But now, looking at her wondering expression, he can't help but want to know.

 

What must she make of them?

 

How must it feel to watch her oldest son drive himself to such extremes over a boy he's never referred to as more than a close friend? Can she really swallow that obvious lie, given all that she's seen? She is, most of the time, even better than Dan at deliberately ignoring something she doesn't want to acknowledge, but to accept that Dan nearly died because he thought he was losing his 'flatmate' must be a difficult pill to swallow, even for her.

 

It's likely that, on some level at least, she's always known the truth. 

 

Not everything, obviously. But enough. 

 

The taxi leaves the hospital grounds, gliding onto the road and slipping into the steady stream of rush hour traffic that Dan has grown so used to over his time living in the city. His mother disappears from his thoughts as quickly as she disappears from sight, and once again it's just Dan and Phil, enclosed in a bubble in the backseat, hurtling back towards their shared life. 

 

* * *

 

“So, you… aren’t moving out?” Dan asks one day as Phil fusses over his bandage for the zillionth time.

 

Phil’s fingers fumble with the safety pin securing it in place. “What? No, of course not.”

 

Dan nods, and Phil tuts at him for moving. They’re in the bathroom, which is weird and kind of awkward, as it’s not really big enough for two regular sized people to fit comfortably, let alone two giants.

 

Phil insists on changing Dan’s bandage _twice a day_ however, going on and on about infection and how one can ‘never be too careful’ about these things. It seems excessive to Dan, to put it mildly, but he hasn’t complained once.

 

He’s more than happy to oblige Phil’s every whim right now. He has dragged the guy through a hell he cannot fathom the depths of; heck, if Phil wanted to give Dan another reason to need a bandage, Dan wouldn’t deny him the opportunity.

 

“Cool.” Is all Dan can think of to say, though in truth he’s euphoric at this news. He’d suspected that Phil’s plans of moving had been put on hold since the… incident, but now he’s pretty much confirmed that any thoughts of leaving this apartment in the near future are abandoned. For now, anyway. “Would’ve made things pretty awkward on the tour if we weren’t living together.”

 

Phil snorts, hands falling to his sides. “Guess I didn’t really think that through.” He admits, a very tiny smile caught on the corner of his mouth. Dan stares at it in the mirror in front of him, entranced. “Okay, all done.”

 

“Thanks.” Dan says, purposefully loading it with meaning.

 

Phil’s eyes catch his in the mirror, then flick away self-consciously. “Come on,” Phil says, edging towards the door. “I’ll make some dinner.”

 

* * *

 

The tour is a whirlwhind of hot, long car journeys, impossibly huge screaming crowds, glitz, glamour, grot, and grease in no particular order. Most of their time seems to be spent in the back of a sort-of people carrier, squished in with some of the props and extra bits of luggage that they couldn’t fit in the other van.

 

Phil is nauseous for most of the long, long journeys spent hurtling down mile after mile of motorway, making him a less than entertaining travel companion. He tries to join in Dan's half-hearted attempts at 'I Spy' and 'Twenty Questions', but ultimately he's almost always too sick to concentrate.

 

Instead, Dan listens to his entire music library twice all the way through and gets through all the films saved to his laptop’s hard drive. They traverse the entirety of the UK in just a few months, and the main thing Dan discovers is that everywhere looks pretty much the same. There is always a Tesco Express open until midnight, and there’ll always be seagulls, even in non-coastal towns. The main colour scheme of big cities is a flat, rain-splattered grey, and no matter how rural the area, or how off the beaten path they get, the fans find them somehow.

 

Their nights are spent mostly in cheap hotels, mostly Travelodge's and occasionally Premier Inn's. The endless, identical corridors of these establishments invade Dan's unconscious mind, and he develops a recurring dream of running through them, searching for Phil's room when he can't remember the number, frantic because they're minutes away from being needed on stage.

 

Most nights they collapse into their beds, exhausted enough from the exertion of doing show that they fall asleep instantly. Occasionally they'll have a night off, free to explore the town or do as they please, and most of the time they spend these evenings in one of their rooms, having no desire to explore the dull, samey cities they've pulled up in. They'll order ten things off the room service menu, hoovering everything up as if they were starving, and sharing every plate without discussion. Then they'll lie, bellies stuffed, on the king sized bed, watching shit TV and straining the free wifi on their laptops.

 

Sometimes they'll fall asleep right there, and wake up disoriented, blushing awkwardly at the realisation they slept in the same bed. Most nights one of them will drag himself back to his own room at 2am, reluctant but too exhausted to discuss it. 

 

They have a blast, which is entirely unexpected, given the circumstance of their relationship just before they left. The tour seems to strip away the stupid, trivial nonsense that clouds their friendship on the surface, and all that remains is the foundation of their Dan-and-Phil-ness.

 

They spend hours just sat together in relieved, totally comfortable silence, pushing everyone else out of their dressing rooms and hotel rooms and cars and rehearsal spaces so that it can just be them again. It’s a decidedly non-sexual thing, but they crave each other’s singular presence at almost all times, appreciating the solitude far more now that it's rare.

 

Nobody else on this mad adventure understands them the way they do each other.

 

Dan falls on Phil at the end of every day, wrung out with exhaustion, barely able to hold himself up, but safe in the knowledge that he no longer has to exert any energy. Being with Phil is as familiar as sinking into his mattress at night, homely and as comforting as an embrace.

 

He finds that he doesn’t really get homesick. One day, on stage in Birmingham, as he shouts a Seven Second Challenge at Phil across a real live stage in front of thousands, performing a show they made together, he realises that it’s because his home is right beside him.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan starts to get tense when January rolls around.

 

He tries not to think about it in any great deal, but the very month itself has a weight attached to it for Dan, as does his own birth month. It feels like a countdown from the second the BBC Sherlock special’s end credits roll, and the realisation sinks in that it’s January 1st, only 29 days until Phil’s birthday.

 

He’s nervous because he doesn’t know what to expect. Not this year.

 

Things are tentatively good between he and Phil right now. A lot of the reason for this is due to the tour forcing them to be each other’s support systems no matter what else might have been going on, Dan knows. He’s hyper aware, especially now that it’s over, of the immense weight he still carries on his shoulders.

 

He’s been so careful, ever since waking up in hospital, to be whatever Phil needs, whenever he needs it. At times he can sense Phil’s mild irritation with him tiptoeing around all the time, making him coffees and giving him first dibs on everything. He even let Phil win at Mario Kart the other day, at which point Phil just side eyed him, a look on his face that said ‘really, Dan?’.

 

Dan doesn’t care, though. Phil can be irritated with him for being too nice. That’s fine, he’ll take that any day of the week. It’d be far worse to have Phil irritated with him for a more logical reason, like, say, very nearly destroying their friendship, their careers, their whole fucking lives by inventing a ridiculous, emotionally abusive scheme to string Phil along for years because Dan’s too much of a pathetic wimp to come to terms with his own feelings.

 

Obviously all of that stuff is over with now, Dan is aware. The sticky note is nowhere to be seen. They haven’t even spoken about Birthday Sex for fuck knows how long at this point.

 

Dan is under no false impression that this January thirtieth is going to be anything like the January thirtieth’s of the past five or six years. He’s more worried that the day itself will stir up all of that shit they have been doing so well at not dwelling on.

 

It’s a day fraught with baggage that he and Phil surely won’t be able to ignore. He’s going to have to wish Phil a happy birthday, buy him a cake, get him a card and present, and they are both going to have to try and just ignore the fact that all of these things have had very different complications alongside them in the past.

 

“What’re you thinking about?” Phil queries, watching Dan from the tiny sofa in the office.

 

Dan’s supposed to be booting up the Sims for a new video, but he realises the mouse is just hovering over the shortcut on the desktop, and probably has been for around a minute now.

 

Dan plasters on a semblance of a smile, turning back to the screen. “Nothing.” He lies hurriedly, mind racing. “Just fretting about tour stuff.”

 

Phil hums in understanding, seeming to accept this as he turns back to his phone. “Relax,” he says, “we’ve got another month and a half before we announce it.”

 

Dan nods, not really listening. A big, glowing green diamond pulsates on the Sims 4 loading screen. “America,” he breathes in quiet wonder, trying to imagine life on the road again by Phil’s side, but this time after another birthday has passed them by. “Mad.”

 

“Gnarly, dude.” Phil says in a bad American accent, making Dan snort with laughter. He forgets about his worry for the next hour or so at least.

 

* * *

 

The day before Phil’s birthday, Dan can’t stand it any longer. He’s laying on his bed, typing another email to another executive about something tour-related. Phil is sat on the butt chair, tapping away at his phone with a frown.

 

They spend much of their time in this way, sitting in the same room out of convenience whilst they deal with the boring, technical side of their usually exciting careers. Mostly, they won’t even need to talk to one another, but just in case they need to confer it’s easiest to be sat nearby. Plus, for Dan at least, it's just nice to have the other's presence as a reassurance or distraction while they do boring work. 

 

Today however, Dan is having difficulty focusing. Each time he types a few words, his train of thought disappears and his eyes wander to the foot of his bed, where Phil is sat hunched over his phone.

 

How can he be so calm? How can he just sit there fiddling about on his iPhone like nothing is wrong, when tomorrow is a day that could make or break their tentative friendship? Isn't he worried? Has he even thought about it at all?

 

Eventually, Dan slams the lid of his laptop closed, sitting up straight against his headboard. Phil looks up in surprise, blinking owlishly. Dan folds his legs underneath himself and clears his throat, then uncrosses his legs, trying to find a comfortable but serious position.

 

“Please talk about tomorrow.” Dan blurts, half wishing he could shove the request back down his throat. “We should talk about it.”

 

A look of quiet realisation dawns on Phil’s face, and he flips his phone over and over in one hand, not answering for a while.

 

“What about it?”

 

Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes, barely. “It’s your birthday.”

 

“Yes, I remember.”

 

“So…” Dan prompts, raising his eyebrows. Phil stays quiet. “So, what do you want to do about it?”

 

“Like, do I want a party or something?” Phil asks, blatantly avoiding the topic he must know Dan is getting at.

 

Flummoxed, Dan shrugs in defeat. “I guess that’s part of it, yeah. You haven’t even talked about it. At least not to me. Are you planning on being here, or going to the Isle of Mann, or…?”

 

Phil shrugs. “I haven’t made any plans to go up North. I’ll just stay here.”

 

“With me.” Dan clarifies, eyebrows still raised.

 

Phil smirks very slightly. “Unless you’ve got somewhere to be?”

 

“N-no, of course not.” Dan says, flushing slightly with embarrassment for some reason. “The fans keep asking me what you’re doing for it. I’ve fobbed them off so far, but you know what they’re like. If we keep it quiet then their imaginations will conjure up something way worse.”

 

Phil shrugs again, bringing up Facebook on his phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make something up to tell them when we do the radio show.”

 

Defeated by Phil’s irritating nonchalance, Dan deflates in on himself, forced to accept Phil’s terms. “Okay.” He says with a touch of disappointment. He has a million unanswered questions, still. “Didn’t you wanna… I don’t know. Invite some friends over or something?”

 

A moment of quiet passes where Phil scrolls through his feed distractedly. Dan wonders if he even heard. “Nah. Let's just keep it quiet. Remember we told Ben that we'd film for Becoming YouTube on the 31st, so we can't do anything crazy."

 

"Oh yeah." Dan remembers, cursing the ill timing. "But we could invite Bry and Wirrow over tomorrow night? They don't have to stay or anything. There'd be plenty of time to prepare for Ben in the morning."

 

"I invited that lot a while ago," Phil says unexpectedly, "but Bry and Wirrow are away until the third."

 

“Oh,” Dan says, surprised. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Phil might have already tried to arrange something for tomorrow without consulting him. “Right. Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

"I thought I could have a little get together on the fourth instead." Phil continues, leaning back in the butt chair so that it tilts alarmingly. "Maybe do another escape room.”

 

Dan laughs because he thinks it's a poor joke. He'd rather lock himself in Phil's cupboard for an hour than willingly subject himself to another 'escape the room' fiasco. But Phil just blinks at him, perfectly serious. 

 

"You'd... wanna do that?" Dan asks, bewildered. 

 

Phil shrugs. "It kinda felt like we didn't get the full experience last time. They're meant to be pretty fun, generally."

 

Dan reddens, knowing that Phil is implying it's his fault that their last 'escape room' experience hadn't been fun. "Yeah, so I've heard."

 

He vows to be on his best behaviour this time around, if that's Phil's chosen activity. He'll just sit back and let Phil figure out the clues. It'll be tough, because Dan's a self-admitted control freak, but it's for the best. 

 

"Ok," Dan sighs, shrugging in reluctant acceptance. "So it's just you and me tomorrow." He pauses, biting his nail as he considers how this might play out. "We can get pizza or something."

 

Phil glances up at him, noting the worry in his tone no doubt. "I'll ask Ben to stay after we do the interview on the next day." Phil says, his face reassuring. "We can have a little gathering on the 31st to make up for it." 

 

"And on the fourth?" Dan asks, smirking a little, though his heart is thrumming. "It's like a birth-week. Who do you think you are, Jesus?" 

 

Phil chuckles politely, but turns his attention back to his phone without responding. Dan waits for him to say something else, but a quiet falls, so Dan reluctantly reopens his laptop, eyes falling back to the drafted email on his screen. He realises as he rereads it for the eighth time that he still hasn’t successfully spoken with Phil about what's really plaguing him about tomorrow.

 

“What about the other thing?” Dan asks before he can overthink himself out of it. “The sticky note thing.”

 

The phone slips out of Phil’s hand, landing in his lap. Phil looks up at Dan, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “We’re not doing that.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Dan agrees, flushing. “I guessed you’d say that. But, like… I dunno-”

 

“Dan,” Phil interrupts, looking very much like he’d rather this conversation was about anything else, “I just want a normal birthday. I want to hear my mum sing ‘happy birthday’ badly to me down the phone, I want to look at all the subscribers’ nice messages on Twitter, I want to laze around the flat with you, eat cake, watch films and do normal birthday stuff.”

 

Dan nods slowly. "Normal birthday stuff." He repeats, the words ill-fitting in his mouth.  

 

“If we can get through one birthday with no weirdness, we might have a shot at making this work.” Phil continues, his voice a little hard. “It’s the best thing I can think of to try and get away from everything that’s happened since…”

 

“We met?” Dan finishes for him, his voice strangled.

 

Phil meets his eyes, then looks away, guiltily. That’s what he’d meant, after all. The Birthday Sex technically began as soon as they met. So if Phil had never met Dan, none of this would ever have happened and tomorrow would just be a normal, cake-filled day for him.

 

“I just want a _birthday_.” Phil says, his eyes closing against the trigger word. “No strings attached, no connotations, no rules or fights or weird, tense atmospheres.”

 

“Okay.” Dan whispers, nodding.

 

He doesn’t know why he feels so gut-wrenchingly sad. This is what he’d been expecting Phil to say more or less. Well, his first thought was that Phil would announce he’s not going to be here tomorrow. Avoidance of tricky situations had always been a strong point of his. Until now, apparently.

 

Desperate to lighten the mood, Dan tries to crack a weak joke. “So I have to scrounge you up a damn _cake_ now?”

 

Surprisingly, Phil chuckles, meeting Dan’s eyes again. “You’d better.”

 

* * *

 

Later that same day - very late, in fact - Dan has worked himself into yet another fret. He lays in bed, unable to consider sleep when tomorrow holds so many possibilities - most of them bad. Dan has never considered himself an optimist, and his predictions for Phil's birthday are no exception. For Phil's sake, Dan hopes it goes smoothly. For his own sake, as well. If, like Phil wanted, they could manage to get through the day without any weirdness whatsoever, that would be a fucking miracle.

 

The thing is, Dan's pretty sure he's not going to be able to let that happen. 

 

Most of the time nowadays, he and Phil have been getting on well. They're functioning day to day by adopting a shallow, superficial version of their friendship, and skimming over anything else. They are polite and pleasant to each other. They get up and wish each other good morning. One of them will make two cups of coffee and they'll drink them side by side on the sofa. They'll go about their daily tasks, most of the time at each other's side. They'll ask and consider one another's opinions. They'll make a pun about something not that funny, and the other will laugh. In the evenings they'll cook dinner in turns, then sit together on the couch again to watch a show they both like. 

 

Hundreds of days pass in this format, and it works really well for them. They fall into a routine so easily that it's almost too easy for Dan to forget there's anything wrong under the surface. Of course, there are days when their true, fractured relationship rears its head. Mostly however, Phil and Dan manage to gloss over it, ignoring the past six years as though they never even happened. 

 

Obviously, this is a temporary solution to their issues. Often, Dan finds himself laid in bed wide awake, chewing his fingernails as he considers how it might fall apart. He knows, after all, that inevitably, he and Phil will have to address what's happened. They'll have to talk it through, explaining their feelings and trying to hammer out a rudimentary plan for the years ahead of them. 

 

_I don't care about the specifics yet. We can work it out later._

 

That's what Phil had said back in the hospital room, right after he said he was never leaving again. 

 

 

Dan's fingernails are bitten back to their stumps as he waits for 'later' to arrive. 

 

In Dan's opinion, 'later' sounds an awful lot like it should be tomorrow. January 30th. Phil's twenty-ninth birthday. 

 

If they were ever going to have a big old, important and terrifying talk about everything, surely it would make sense for it to be that day. Generally, Dan is a huge fan of ignoring his problems, but living this fake, happy, cereal-commercial version of their lives is starting to drive Dan a little insane. 

 

He watches Phil every day, trying to gauge what he's feeling or thinking, but all he gets is a plastered on smile, and a too-chipper 'good morning' as he's handed a cup of hot coffee. Dan used to be good at knowing the way Phil's mad, wonderful brain works, but now he's lost in its labyrinth, trapped in a small section of it, the minotaur of Phil's true feelings seeming to be hiding around each corner. 

 

Every day since he's known Phil, Dan has woken up sure in the knowledge of one thing: Phil loves him. 

 

Each day that's passed in the months since that night at Martyn's, Dan has woken up less and less sure. 

 

Phil doesn't tell him anymore. He doesn't even look at Dan the same way. Dan no longer catches him staring. Phil doesn't say sweet things to him, or make noticeable allowances.

 

There used to be a hundred little things Phil did in a day to show his love for Dan, even if he didn't mean to do them. He'd open the door for Dan, or let him slide into the car first, or pluck an eyelash from his cheek. He'd lend Dan the pound he needs for his Starbucks order without being asked, or he'd slip off his own jacket to hand over when he sees Dan shiver. 

 

Now, there's nothing. 

 

The change would be imperceptible to anyone else, but Dan feels the cloak of indifference Phil is wrapping around them like it were made of thick, heavy satin. 

 

He has no idea Dan how Phil feels about him now, and the thought makes him queasy.

 

What if, as is all too likely, he's simply come to his senses? What if Dan took it too far by ending up in hospital? What if Phil, upon realising how moronic Dan is, how immature after that stunt he pulled, was simply shocked out of his trance? What if he's fallen out of love with Dan, and is only sticking around for the sake of their career?

 

Dan has to know. He can't live in this perpetual fantasy-friendship they've fabricated for themselves. He needs to have an honest discussion with Phil, to lay their cards out on the table and sort out some kind of plan for what happens next. 

 

Particularly because Dan now has his own truth to lay before Phil, should he want to hear it.  

 

The best time to have this discussion, whether Phil likes it or not, is tomorrow. Dan is sure of it. 

 

At any other time it would be too easy to chicken out, but tomorrow they will be forced to confront all that's happened. The memories of Phil's birthday in the years that have passed between them will be so present tomorrow, they will be impossible to ignore.

 

The discussion will undoubtedly be horrible. Dan expects tears and anger, he expects to be called every name under the sun, and he imagines he may fly off the handle himself, as he's not exactly known for his level-head. None of it matters though, because it's  _necessary._ If Dan has to endure one more day of pretending like he isn't bursting with the desire to spill his guts for Phil, or to wring Phil's own truth out by any means, he'll scream. 

 

Dan needs to know how Phil feels. He needs it more than oxygen. He has to know now, as soon as possible, because it's been months, and Dan can't ignore the truth of his own feelings for a second more. 

 

For years, Dan had been keeping this truth buried. He'd piled his stubborn denial over the top, suffocating it until it shrivelled and shrank, becoming so tiny and invisible that Dan had forgotten it even existed. And then, one night, after drinking himself unconscious to avoid a Phil-less future he didn't want to face, Dan hit his head on what can only have been the corner of an epiphany.

 

The piles of denial shifted and slid, revealing the glimmer of truth that had been hidden for so long. Adrian, catching a glimpse of it as Dan lay in that gurney, reached into Dan's soul and hauled it out, bringing it into the open, allowing it to breathe. And once it was out in the world again, it became impossible for Dan to ignore. He tried in vain to rebury it, to push it away. He tried to just ignore it completely, but it only seemed to grow, impatient and demanding, furious at having been shoved aside for years.

 

Now, months later, Dan is no longer in denial. He knows how he feels, and there's no escaping it. 

 

He's unsure whether Phil knows it too, but it's plausible that he might. Either way, it warrants an urgent discussion. One that Phil needs to express an opinion on. 

 

So, in conclusion, Dan is almost certain he won't be able to allow Phil to have an uninterrupted stress-free birthday, as much as he'd love to give Phil what he wants. It's unrealistic to expect it, in reality. Dan can barely stop his mind dwelling on thoughts of he and Phil at any time. How is he supposed to ignore these thoughts on Phil's _birthday,_ a date which has countless romantic connotations for them? 

 

No, Dan thinks decisively. The realisation of his feelings about all of this outweighs Phil's desire to have a 'normal' birthday. It's taken Dan six years, a serious blow to the head, and two near-death experiences, but he has finally come to terms with his own inconvenient desire. 

 

Finally, Dan has realised how he could be happy, and how Phil could be happy too.

 

It's tragic, really, Dan thinks, his heart squeezing. Because in all likelihood, he is far, far too late. 

 

 

* * *

 

Despite his resolve to have an honest conversation with Phil today, Dan tries to at least act 'normal' for the morning of Phil's birthday. He wakes up before Phil and boils the kettle, two cups of coffee ready by the time Phil wanders into the kitchen. Dan's smile is bright as he hands Phil his favourite mug.

 

"Happy birthday!" Dan sings, his grin a touch too wide.

 

"Thanks." Phil says, flashing him a return smile as he gulps down some coffee.

 

"So, pancakes?" Dan asks, winking knowingly. He's already pulled Delia's list of ingredients out of their cupboards. 

 

"Uh, no," Phil says, glancing somewhat fearfully at the flour, milk and eggs on the counter, "I think I'll have some cereal or something."

 

Thrown by Phil's answer, Dan can only watch in bewilderment as Phil finds a bowl and a spoon, then pours himself some of his own, self-bought cereal. When did he even buy that? Dan wonders. 

 

Determined to keep up a pretence at normalcy for as long as possible in order to keep Phil happy, Dan switches on the TV and puts on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's Phil's favourite episode, 'Once More, With Feeling', and he sits back, proud of his choice as Phil plops down beside him on the sofa.

 

"I've seen this so many times," Phil complains around a mouthful of Shreddies. "What else is on?"

 

A few more similar instances pass in this way over the course of the day. Each time Dan suggests something, Phil politely shuts it down, opting for something totally different. Dan suggests tea, Phil wants coffee. Dan suggests a film, Phil wants to scroll through Twitter. Dan presents Phil with gifts, Phil says he'll open them later.  

 

As Dan sets his presents down on the coffee table, more than a little put out, he tries to figure out Phil's thought process. Why is he behaving so oddly? 

 

Trying to come up with something that will make Phil happy today becomes such a challenge for Dan, that he puts off the discussion until later, unable to bring himself to suggest it when he's failed so spectacularly at making Phil's birthday enjoyable. 

   

After he's suggested every fun birthday activity he can think of (apart from one, obviously), Dan sinks into the sofa by Phil's side, defeated. He frowns, trying to think of something else, watching Phil as he nibbles the cookies his mum sent him, and replies to birthday messages on Twitter. 

 

Well, Dan thinks, pulling out his phone, that's  _something_ he can do, anyway. 

 

His birthday tweet comes out a little sappier than he intends it to, but considering his current state of emotional imbalance, that was only to be expected.

 

“’Angel bean’?” Phil asks aloud, chuckling.

 

He sips coffee and stares at Dan across the sofa, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. God, he's pretty, Dan thinks before he can stop himself. 

 

Dan blushes a little at his own brain, shrugging at Phil. “First thing I thought of.”

 

Phil ‘hmm’s’ and types something in response. Dan’s phone pings almost at once, and he glances down at it, snorting at Phil’s @ reply.

 

“ _D-Slice_?” Dan asks, rolling his eyes.

 

“First thing I thought of.” Phil counters, grinning.

 

“Not quite as good as angel bean though, is it?” Dan says, feigning offence.

 

“Well, I've gotta save up all the sweet nicknames I have for you so that I'll have something to tweet on _your_ birthday.” Phil replies, and Dan stares at him, perplexed in the face of what he’s sure is Phil mildly flirting.

 

Just as Dan thinks this, Phil seems to gather himself together, his mischievous smile disappearing into nothing as he turns away from Dan’s gaze.

 

"Phil," Dan starts, sensing that now would be a great time to introduce this discussion. 

 

“Or maybe I was hinting for a _slice_ of this cake you’ve promised me.” Phil says quickly, as though he can sense what's coming.

 

Dan rolls his eyes, deciding that, for now, he will push the flirty comment out of his mind. “Alright, birthday boy. Wait here.”

 

As he wanders into the kitchen to get the cake he’d bought the day before out of its box, questions attack him in their thousands. None of them will be pinned down for long enough so that Dan can work out an answer. He berates himself a little for chickening out of bringing up the discussion he still feels they need to have. For a second, the timing had seemed perfect, and then the moment had slipped away. 

 

He tells himself that he'll do it before Phil's birthday is out, whether it's the 'right time' or not.

  

* * *

 

Phil’s birthday is drawing to a close, and Dan is more tense than he’s ever been. He keeps glancing at his phone, trying to force himself to speak up before it's too late. 

 

At 11:57pm, Phil groans theatrically, stretching out his limbs. “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.” He whines. “Why did you let me eat the whole thing?”

 

“Hey, I wasn’t getting in the way of you and that pizza, mate.” Dan tells him in all seriousness. “You had this feral, frenzied look in your eyes. I would not have survived that intervention.”

 

Phil laughs, eyes fluttering shut. “It was enormous.”

 

“Yeah, good shout about Voodoo Ray’s instead of Dominoes.” Dan agrees, patting his own belly. He hadn’t managed more than three slices of his own oversized pizza, but that was mostly due to nerves. “I’m stuffed.”

 

“Imagine how I feel.” Phil groans again. “I’d say I’m ready for bed now but I don’t think I can move.”

 

Dan laughs at him, leaning across the sofa to poke him in the side.

 

“Noooo,” Phil complains, half-heartedly rolling away from him. “Don’t. I hate you.”

 

“Lov-” Dan stops himself just in time. His instinct is to say ‘love you too’ in response. But that might not go down so well in this instance.

 

He draws away from Phil, who opens his eyes, confused by Dan’s sudden withdrawal and silence. Dan glances at his phone screen.

 

00:00am.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks, sounding worried as he sits up, pizza filled tummy forgotten.

 

“It’s not your birthday anymore.” Dan says, his voice deflated.

 

Phil pulls out his own phone from where it’s wedged into the sofa cushions by his side. He frowns at it. “Oh yeah.”

 

“I wanna ask you something.” Dan whispers, terrified by his own words.

 

It's technically too late to bring this up, but he's sick of making up stupid rules for himself.

 

He has to make himself ask this now, or he won't ever. 

 

It's no use trying to pretend this time. He has to know.

 

Phil doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he sits up a little straighter, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Okay.”

 

Dan looks over at him, a little surprised. He was expecting to be met with some level of resistance, honestly. They haven’t talked about anything serious in a while, after all.

 

“So, um,” Dan begins eloquently. “That day… when I woke up… in hospital. After…”

 

“Yes.” Phil says flatly, this hardness of his tone betraying how he feels about this particular memory, and how present it still is in his mind.

 

“Right, you remember.” Dan says, nodding. “Um, you were still asleep when I woke up.”

 

Dan waits for Phil to make some kind of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t, he just stares, waiting for Dan to continue.

 

“And I was talking to Adrian,” Dan continues, cheeks pinkening, “well... he was talking to me. Talking _at_ me, really. See, I... a long time ago, I kind of repressed something. And Adrian dug it out of me that day. He tried to get me to say it out loud, but I couldn't. It'd just been so long, and I couldn't face up to it after...”

 

“What are you getting at, Dan?” Phil asks, which makes Dan realise he’s babbling from nerves.

 

He takes a breath, trying to calm himself. He needs to know this, or he can’t hope to act normally around Phil. He sits up straight, squaring his shoulders, and looks Phil in the eye.

 

“Did you hear… what it was?” Dan asks, his voice as timid as a mouse. “When you woke up, did you hear Adrian… what did you hear, Phil?”

 

In the silence that follows his question, Dan thinks the zillion miniscule atoms he is made from might spontaneously burst apart, scattering him across the universe in a cataclysmic combustion. He can’t sit still, and he fidgets under Phil’s stare, waiting in the loaded silence for Phil's answer.

 

It seems like eons pass, but it can’t have been more than a minute or so.

 

Then, altogether unexpectedly, Phil laughs.

 

It’s so perplexing that Dan thinks he might have passed out, or possibly begun hallucinating from anxiety. He stares at his friend, bewildered by this reaction, and waits until he stops laughing, not sure what else to do.

 

It takes about fifteen seconds until Phil has gathered himself. “God, you still can’t say it, can you?”

 

Dan blinks. “…What?”

 

Phil is shaking his head in wonderment, staring up at the ceiling. “Even now, after everything. Even after your own brother spelled it out for you.”

 

Dan’s heart stutters.

“So, you did hear…”

 

Phil sighs deeply, rubbing his hands over his face. He lifts his eyes to Dan, sadly. “No.” Phil tells him with a shrug, his eyes screaming the opposite. “No, I didn’t hear anything, Dan. You’re safe.”

 

Before Dan can protest, not that he would have known where to start, Phil is hauling himself up off the sofa, and exiting the room.

 

“Night, Dan.” He throws over his shoulder half-heartedly, and Dan doesn’t get a chance to respond.

 

The sound of Phil’s door clicking shut, quiet and distant as it is, makes him wince.

 

* * *

 

It’s two o’clock in the morning after Phil’s birthday when Dan flings open the door to his bedroom, so it really shouldn’t be all that surprising that Phil is fast asleep.

 

The now twenty-nine year old jerks awake at the sound of the sudden intrusion, sitting up in a perplexed haze, eyes blinking rapidly in the face of his own contact-less blindness.

 

“Phil, I’m in love with you.” Dan announces by way of greeting, not considering the lateness of the hour, nor the fact that this probably isn’t the best time for Phil to digest this information.

 

He’s been stewing in his own idiocy for the past two hours, alone in his room, and Dan simply could not take a second more of it.

 

He has to make it clear to Phil exactly how he feels, or he will die from the suffocation of his own uncertainty.

 

“I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time.” Dan continues in a rush, stepping a little further into the room. “Every time I said I didn’t was a big fat lie, I’ve been in love with you since we met, fuck, since _before_ that, when I was just your stupid YouTube fanboy-”

 

“Dan.” Phil croaks blearily, reaching out for his bedside light.

 

“I love you, I’m in love with you, it’s why I did everything,” Dan says, “it’s why I _ever_ do anything, because if you don’t love me too then I _die_ inside Phil, I have to keep you right here, right next to me, loving me to the same _ridiculous_ level that I love you or- or-”

 

“ _Dan_!”

 

Dan runs out of breath, and sucks in a lungful of air, feeling hot all over. He’s petrified, standing at the foot of Phil’s bed in the dark, terrified of rejection.

 

He waits in agony for Phil’s next words, his eyes fixed on the older boy, who finds his light switch at last, illuminating himself in a soft yellow glow.

 

Dan waits for him to speak, scrunching his hands into fists.

 

“I know.” Phil says simply, a tiny smile reaching his lips.

 

The two words, innocent as they are, strike Dan like a punch to the chest.

 

“You _know_?” Dan repeats, incredulous.

 

“Yes.” Phil confirms, finding his glasses and slipping them on. “You said, remember? On my last birthday."

 

Vaguely, Dan remembers saying something he regretted whilst caught in the throes of passion, a year ago today. Had he really told Phil he loved him then? The confession must have slipped past the mountainous layers of his denial without his notice, without permission. If anything, it's proof that Dan has always felt this way, and he's just been too fucking dumb to see it. 

 

“But…” Dan flounders about, having expected to be met with a thousand reactions, but not this one. “I thought you’d be more…”

 

“What, surprised?” Phil asks. “Dan,” he says softly, his smile kind. “I’ve always known.”

 

This statement, sweet as it is, infuriates Dan. He feels his blood boil and he stalks forwards, clambering onto the bed, kneeling over Phil in indignation.

 

“How?! How could you know?” Dan asks, jabbing a finger in Phil’s bare chest. The smattering of dark chest hair across pale, dimly lit skin doesn’t escape his notice, but he forces himself to put it to the back of his mind. “ _I_ didn’t even know!”

 

“Well, I’ll admit sometimes you convinced me otherwise.” Phil confesses, his voice calm and level despite Dan’s sudden pounce. “You’re good at lying to yourself. And you’re good at acting like you don’t care. But none of what you did would have made sense if you didn’t love me on some level.”

 

Dan sits back on his haunches, his mind running a mile a minute.

 

“You’re like a cat,” Phil says inexplicably, leaning back against his pillows. “You know when they do that thing where they grab your hand with their front paws and try to kick you away with their back ones? Like they can’t make up their mind if they want you to stay or go.” Phil tilts his head to the side, considering his own metaphor. “They love you, but they’re confused by it. It’s not in their nature. So they try and push you away, but they don’t actually want you to leave.”

 

Dan stares, shocked by the accuracy of Phil’s analogy. “Well, if I’m a cat, you’re a dog.”

 

Phil chuckles. “Um, explain?”

 

“You’re infinitely loveable.” Dan sighs, placing his palm over Phil’s heart. The beat is calm and steady. “And all you do is love me." He whispers, teeth clenching as his eyes fill with hot, frustrated tears. "That’s all you do.” Moisture spills over, trickling down Dan's cheeks. “And I just… I just fuck you over again and again.”

 

Slowly, Dan feels Phil’s fingers close around his, pressing his hand to his chest. “I think you make yourself see it as worse than it is.”

 

In his present state, Dan can’t wrap his head around this statement. “You really always knew?”

 

Phil shrugs. “Not always. Sometimes I thought I was crazy for believing it. Sometimes I was convinced you didn’t even like me.” Dan swallows, hating that he ever allowed this thought to formulate in Phil’s gorgeous mind. “But then again, you secretly loving me all this time and pretending you don’t always seemed like the exact sort of crazy thing that'd be going on in your brain.”

 

Dan can’t help but splutter a laugh, wiping a hand through his tears. “I’m such a fucking mess.”

 

Phil hums in agreement, but there’s a smile playing on his mouth.

 

It seems like all Dan can do in this moment is lean forwards and kiss him. Their lips collide messily in the dark, and Dan isn’t exactly feeling that coordinated. Still, it’s perfect, it’s always perfect, and he slips a hand around the back of Phil’s neck, relaxing into the comfort of Phil’s mouth on his.

 

Not even ten seconds pass however, before Phil’s hands brace his shoulders, and Dan finds himself being pushed backwards with gentle, firm force.

 

“Dan, don’t.” Phil murmurs, his voice suddenly broken and weak.

 

“What’s wrong?” Dan asks, heart picking up speed.

 

Phil sighs, head turning to one side. “Nothing’s changed, Dan.” He says despondently, sending Dan’s heart plummeting through the mattress. “I’m happy that you came to terms with how you feel, but…”

 

“But you still don’t want me.” Dan finishes, his voice a horrified whisper.

 

Phil faces him, face sympathetic. “That’s not it. You know how I feel about you. I’ve never hidden it.” Dan sits back, hands wringing with guilt and shame. “But just because you’ve said it out loud now… that doesn’t mean that we could make this work.”

 

Dan’s throat constricts, and his eyes fill with tears. He needs to get out of here. “Yeah, I understand.”

 

Phil’s fingers are still clutching his; Dan tries to pull them away, but Phil holds on tight. “I can’t do it again, Dan.” Phil says, his voice forced, spoken through gritted teeth. “For years I kept hoping you’d want me. I let you break my heart so many times.” Dan wants to flee, suddenly. He wants to tear himself away from this situation, from facing his own horrific behaviour, and its consequences. “I can’t keep hoping that this time you’ll change your mind. That you’ve finally realised how you feel, and that you won’t let your insecurity turn you against the idea. If you broke my heart again, Dan… I don’t think I’d recover this time.”

 

Dan’s head falls forwards, and tears spill over, dripping down his cheeks. He pulls away from Phil’s grip, nodding because he can’t speak. He knows Phil is right.

 

“Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, okay.” He clambers awkwardly off the bed, turning towards Phil’s window. He tries to wipe his tears away, but they're falling thick and fast now; he can't keep up. He can feel that he has mere seconds left before he falls apart completely, so he chooses his next words with care. He needs to get out of here before he crumbles, he needs to be in solitude, wrapped up in something soft and warm where he won’t be able to hurt himself, where Phil won’t be able to hear him scream with the pain. “So, w-what now?”

 

“What do you mean?” Phil asks.

 

“I mean what do we do now?” Dan asks hurriedly, urging Phil to speedily answer before he breaks down. “I love you, you love me. Are we just gonna pretend like we don’t know?”

 

Phil shifts awkwardly, fidgeting. “I don’t know.” He admits. “I can’t be with you right now. Maybe one day I’ll feel different, I don’t know. Maybe one day it won’t be so difficult to think about…” he takes a deep breath, “trying again. But I don’t want to keep you hanging on for that slim possibility, Dan. I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to…” He pauses, trailing off. “I think it’s better just not to even try. I’m not going anywhere. We can still be us.”

 

Dan nods, feeling his resolve straining, seconds away from breaking. “Yeah.” He thinks he’s run out of words, but something occurs to him, needing to be said. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

 

He sniffs, turning to Phil, scraping the last of his courage up and shaping it into something he can spit out before he has to run from this. “I’m not going to let you forget, Phil. I understand why you don’t trust me when I tell you that I love you. God, I get it, don’t worry." Dan shakes his head in disbelief. "Why the fuck _would_ you believe me? But I’m gonna remind you all the time. I’ll tell you every day if I have to.” He wipes more stupid, needless tears away as they blur his vision. “And I know you might never be able to get over what I did to you, but at least I’ll know that if, somehow, one day, a miracle occurred and you ever did want to try again with me, I’d be right there, waiting for you.”

 

Behind his glasses, two tears spill over Phil’s lower lids, trickling down to the plush bow of his trembling lips.

 

“I’m never gonna want anyone but you, Phil.” Dan tells him with utter certainty. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life, suddenly, though he’s not sure where the thought came from. “I never really have.”

 

Having said all he needs to say, Dan starts striding towards the door of Phil’s room. He reaches the frame, one hand on the handle, when Phil’s voice softly calling his name makes him halt in his tracks.

 

He can feel himself splintering apart, so he doesn’t dare turn his head, but he waits for Phil to speak, hand gripping the metal of the handle with such force he’s surprised it doesn’t crack.

 

“Thank you.” Phil says, his voice thick with tears. “For saying it.” There’s a pause. “I mean, I waited five years to hear it.”

 

Dan nods once, his heart breaking in his chest, and then bolts out of the room.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks go by, Dan makes it his mission to keep his word to Phil. He knows he’s being a touch theatrical about it, but he tries to slip in a reminder of his feelings into conversations with Phil as often as he can.

 

Phil is, somewhat comically, nearly always blindsided by it.

 

The first time Dan plucks up the courage to do it is just a day after Phil’s birthday. They’re sat in the lounge whilst trying to rapidly plan a Radio 1 show they’ve barely prepared for, when Phil gets up for a bit, then returns with two plates of beans on toast, Dan’s sprinkled with grated cheddar.

 

Stressed out as he is from their lack of organisation combined with the time constraints, Dan almost weeps with joy upon seeing the food.

 

“Oh my God, you angel.” Dan says hungrily, grabbing his plate from Phil and wolfing down a cheesy, hot bite. “See this,” Dan says around his mouthful, his cheeks pinkening already, “this is why I love you.”

 

Dan spends the following fifteen precious minutes cleaning up the beans and toast that Phil spills onto the floor in his shock, but it’s worth it.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Sunday, and Dan is bone tired. He and Phil have spent the day doing a spring clean of the flat, then ordered curry to reward themselves. Now though, Dan hasn’t even the energy to focus on scrolling through Tumblr. He decides to cart himself off to bed before his internet-addicted brain can protest, purposefully leaving his laptop on the sofa so he’s not tempted by it.

 

He scoops his mug up off the coffee table and heads for the living room door.

 

“Night, Phil,” Dan yawns. Then, he thinks for a moment. “Love you.”

 

The responding ‘goodnight’ trips and stutters on Phil’s tongue, and he feels two cobalt eyes bulleting into him as he walks out of the door. He forces himself not to turn back and see the surprise on Phil’s face, but smiles a little as he walks back to his room.

 

* * *

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**21:47pm**  
Gonna be late back. BBC stuff  
taking forever.

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**21:50pm**  
BBC stuff? Anything I should  
know?

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**21:52pm**  
Nothing interesting. I’ll fill u in  
later.

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**21:53pm**  
Ok. Shall I save you dinner?

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**21:54pm**  
You don’t have to haha

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**21:54pm**  
…what is it?

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**21:58pm**  
lol I made a pasta thing

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**21:59pm**  
…with garlic bread

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**22:00pm**  
Omg u r a god amongst men D:

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**22:03pm**  
haha thanks? So u don’t want any then…? ;)

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**22:03pm**  
please please save me some Chef Phil

 

 **From: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**22:05pm**  
maybe. You did ask very nicely.

 

 **From: Dan Howell**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**22:07pm**  
Love you  <3

 

* * *

 

Phil is doing that thing again. He’s sketching out an idea he had a moment ago, and as his pencil moves over the pad his tongue pokes out of his mouth, pointed and delicate.

 

He’s wearing his thicker glasses today, and he’s got the Jake hoodie on that Dan gave him. Dan has no idea what he’s drawing, as he just burst into the lounge a while ago, muttering something about immediately needing a pad and pencil for an idea dribbling out of his brain.

 

Dan had handed him the one that’s been sitting on their bookshelf for months, covered in dust, and Phil had instantly plonked himself on the floor, resting it on the coffee table as he drew.

 

Dan has been watching him for all of this time, a faint smile on his face as Phil unfurls his creative limbs right in front of him, inexplicable and captivating as always.

 

At that moment, Phil seems to notice Dan’s eyes on him, and glances up, his glasses halfway down his nose, pencil poised in mid air.

 

“What?” Phil asks, appearing concerned by Dan’s fond expression.

 

Dan just smiles wider at him, knowing he’s being a gooey idiot, but not seeming to know how to stop. Seeing Phil this way is a perfect reminder of just how lucky Dan is to be around him. He’s sunshine and creativity and pure, untapped imagination in one beautiful, sickeningly sweet and ridiculously funny package.

 

“Nothing.” Dan says instinctively, resting his chin in his hand, no intention of looking away from Phil just yet. He thinks better of his response then, remembering that he has no reason to hide his true feelings any longer. He shrugs at Phil, grinning. “I love you.”

 

The pencil falls onto the paper with a ‘thwap’. Phil’s mad, unidentifiable scrawls are abandoned for the time being. The older boy frowns, pushing his glasses up his nose, going red.

 

“Stop saying that.” Phil mutters, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his palms so it seems like he has grown thick, yellow paws.

 

Dan’s smile starts to fade. “Why?”

 

Phil fidgets, shifting about on the floor. “Well… why do you keep saying it?”

 

Dan frowns in confusion. “Because it’s true. And like I said, I’m gonna keep telling you until you believe it.”

 

“I believe it.” Phil tells him in a mumble. “I told you I knew all along.”

 

“Until you believe that I won’t change my mind again, then.” Dan corrects himself. “I’m gonna keep saying it so you know that I’m not denying it any more. I’ve accepted it totally.”

 

Dan beams at him in defiance. 

 

Phil stares back, swallowing. He nods slowly, processing Dan’s words. “I don’t know what to say when you…” Phil chews his lip, seeming distressed. “It throws me off. I’m not used to it.”

 

“That’s why I’m doing it.” Dan says firmly, aiming a smile at Phil. “One day it’ll just be normal to hear it.”

 

Phil stares at him, frowning again. He picks up the pencil and twirls it in his fingers. “I don’t think it’ll ever seem normal.”

 

Guiltily, Dan lets this comment slide, but he tells himself it’s not true. He won’t accept that Phil will always be weirded out by the idea of Dan freely admitting that he loves him. If he says it enough, and with enough conviction, eventually Phil will start to smile when he hears it.

 

"You're far from normal." Dan says, and the corner of Phil's mouth turns up in a smile. "But I love you anyway." 

 

Phil's responding blush is enough to start a forest fire, Dan is sure, but he doesn't protest any more, so Dan considers it a victory. Shakily, Phil picks up his pencil once more, returning to his drawing. Dan watches him for a while longer, smiling happily as Phil sinks back into whatever mad thought is occupying his mind. 

 

Maybe, Dan thinks, barely even daring to entertain the thought. Maybe one day Phil might even say it back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> Phil had a birthday celebration with friends on the fourth of feb (escape the room thing and a sushi meal) *two photos included*  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Had a belated birthday night with pals! Escaped a room at hinthunt and ate more sushi than a human can handle" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/695204938947956736.
> 
> Phil had cake and Mario Kart with unknown people on the 31st as well as filming for Becoming YouTube  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "@ughoweII that was this morning! Mario Kart and cake fest tonight" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693896989583523845.
> 
> Phil hits 2million followers on his birthday at like 7:30pm  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Just saw that I hit 2 million followers on my birthday! Thanks everyone!! Here's a dancing kitten" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693542567347093506.
> 
> Dan's birthday tweet to Phil and Phil's response  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to everyone's favourite angel bean @AmazingPhil #HappyBirthdayPhil (dw guys i've got the cake covered)" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693500607269900288.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "@danisnotonfire I am now 98% cake. THANKS D-SLICE" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693500607269900288. 
> 
> Phil's birthday tweets/responses to Martyn & Cornelia, Cat, and PJ  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Beautiful birthday card from @mookentooken and @iamcornelia! https://instagram.com/p/BBLCF2jLBJM/" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693493484427304960.  
> \- kickthepj (2016), "HAPPY BIRTHDAY @AMAZINGPHIL!!" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693404138022006784.  
> \- catrific (2016), "happy birthday to one of my favorite people ever to exist: @amazingphil. enjoy our fetus photo and have the best day" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693493862405378048.
> 
> Phil's thank you tweet to fans  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Aw thank you for all the #HappyBirthdayPhil's! Here is your party bag:" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/693402639233634305.
> 
> Phil's mum sent him cookies on his birthday and he and Dan ordered giant pizza.  
> \- updatedphan (2016), "radio show february 1, 2016" [tumblr post], http://updatedphan.tumblr.com/post/138502262853/radio-show-february-1-2016. 
> 
> Phil and Dan had fun together on their off days of the UK tour. Spontaneous beach pic/neck cushion pic/TATINOF film/TATINOF doc:  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "having a spontaneous beach walk in sunderland (it was just an excuse to find some ice cream) https://instagram.com/p/8qOvwCJgI1/" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/652848097060605952.  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire" [YouTube Red Film], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24W2a0swcQI.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "On the tour bus with my rock and roll zebra neck brace https://instagram.com/p/8nRWHkrBOv/" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/652431643278462976.  
> -AmazingPhil (2016), "Dan and Phil's Story of TATINOF" [YouTube Red Film], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DD23u88DGeg&t=2883s. 
> 
> Last source:  
> Me. I saw them in Birmingham, I saw the love and heartbreak with my own two eyes fight me (jk but I did attend Birmingham TATINOF). 
> 
> **EDIT** I made an edit to this because I made an error - basically Dan wakes up in hospital BEFORE the UK tour (duh) not after it, so I reworded the start and now it makes chronological sense baiii.


	11. Dan's Twenty-Fifth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. Also, sort of not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have done it. 
> 
> It is done. My soul is inside of this fic, I hope you will take care of it as you read. I love each and every person reading this, even if statistically one of you is a cannibal (suck it, Dan). 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for all you've said and all you've waited and every word you've read. You can't know how grateful I am, but I hope you will accept my sincere attempt at trying to convey it. 
> 
> Much love to you all, Ellen. 
> 
> Also, if you want, my tumblr is danfanciesphil.tumblr.com. I'd be so happy to talk with and befriend any of you over there. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.S Happy Birthday for tomorrow Dan! Hahahaha

11th June, 2016 (Dan is 25)

 

_(Near the start of the US tour)_

 

“I’m not sick.”

 

Dan throws his book down onto the bed with a dramatic eye roll. Before Phil can react, not that he feels able to exert himself very much anyway, Dan is clambering onto the bed, one arm outstretched. In moments, there’s a soft, large hand pressed flat against Phil’s forehead.

 

Around ten seconds of silence pass, Dan’s face oddly close to Phil’s, a crease between those thick, unruly brows. He wears a look of pissy determination; Phil just stares up at him, wide-eyed.

 

“Bullshit.” Dan declares eventually, removing his hand. He gazes down at Phil, who has been comfortably watching films whilst propped up against the pillows at the top of the bed for some time now. “You’re hot.”

 

Phil’s mouth falls open slightly, sure he must have misheard. “What?”

 

The blush on Dan’s cheeks in instantaneous, and at full power. “I mean, you’re burning hot.” Still, Phil just blinks at him, uncomprehending. “You have a temperature.”

 

“Oh,” Phil says dumbly, his mind sluggish this afternoon. “No, I don’t.”

 

Dan whacks him in the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Phil, I can feel it! You’re at least thirty-eight degrees. Next time we stop somewhere I’m gonna raid a pharmacy and find a thermometer to prove it.”

 

This time, Phil rolls his eyes. The action makes him feel a little dizzy. “Okay, _House._ I’m fine, stop being such a-”

 

He interrupts himself with a rumbling cough that bursts up from deep within his chest, scalding his throat. It lasts for around a minute and a half, after which he looks up at Dan, who is knelt beside him still, now wearing a smug look on his face.

 

“You were saying something about being 'not sick'?”

 

Phil scowls at him, his eyes smarting from the pain of all the coughing. “Fine. So maybe I’ve got a slight cold. It’s not gonna affect the show.”

 

In truth, however, Phil is a little unsure about this. He’s fucking exhausted. He can’t bring himself to walk the infinitesimal distance from his ‘bedroom’ to the kitchenette of the tour bus, let alone think about bouncing around on a stage for two hours.

 

Thankfully, their next show isn’t until tomorrow night, which gives him a full day and a half to gather up some energy from the reserves in his body. He keeps trying to utilise some mindfulness techniques and tell himself that he’s _absolutely_ not ill, already, only a week and a half into the tour.

 

But his body isn’t listening very well to his brain. It never has, really.

 

“A _slight cold-_ ” Dan starts to say in disbelief, so Phil sends him a pleading glance.

 

He tries to tell Dan wordlessly how much he needs to pretend that everything’s okay here, or he’ll go out of his mind with worry about fucking up the entire tour for them and all their fans. Not to mention the huge crew along for the ride – including Martyn and Cornelia – that would all be out of jobs if Phil ended up having to cancel it.

 

It’s lucky, really, that he and Dan are, at this stage in their turbulent friendship, basically able to read each other’s minds.

 

Dan’s shoulders deflate, and he flops down next to Phil, silent.

 

“You’re right,” Dan says at last, nodding. “I’m overreacting. You know what a hypochondriac I am.”

 

Phil turns to stare at him in disbelief. “You think?”

 

Dan faces him with a grim smile. “’Course. You’ll be fine in a day or so. If you quit moping about.”

 

Phil chuckles, nudging him in the ribs. He tries to ignore the fact that this one small movement drains practically all of his energy.

 

“What’re we watching?” Dan asks, nodding towards the laptop that Phil has open on his lap.

 

“Django Unchained.” Phil answers, a little queasy at the sight of the scene he’s paused on.

 

He hadn’t really considered, when putting the film on, how it might affect his already intense nausea from being aboard a bus for a long stretch. And that's ignoring whatever sickness is currently dwelling inside of his body.

 

Dan snorts disapprovingly. “S’not a very good sick movie.”

 

“Not sick,” Phil mutters unconvincingly.

 

He’s not looking at Dan, but he can feel the eye roll anyway.

 

“Right,” Dan mutters back, but he reaches over anyway and exits the screen. Django disappears in a flash. Phil’s about to protest, but Dan is pressed against his side to scroll through Phil’s hard drive, leaning on his arm, warm and heavy. He smells like cinnamon swirls and pear-flavour soap; not only is Phil’s soupy sick-brain already making it difficult to think straight, suddenly he finds he can’t speak either. “Here we go.”

 

Dan leans back again, a satisfied smile on his face.

 

Phil side-eyes Dan's profile for a moment before turning reluctantly back to the screen in front of him. He starts laughing when he sees the tiny Tinkerbell flitting over the Disney castle in the opening credits.

 

The title fades into view, and his laughter continues; he turns to Dan with his tongue caught between his teeth. “Really?”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who has it on your hard drive, mate.” Dan says, one eyebrow raised as he turns to adjust his and Phil's pillows into a more comfortable arrangement. 

 

Phil rolls his eyes. Dan is faffing him, but it's kind of cute, so Phil doesn't comment.

 

Dan turns back to the screen with a practiced nonchalance, pretending his behaviour is not the slightest bit abnormal. As though he fluffs Phil's pillows for him every goddamn day. Phil resists the urge to shake his head fondly, but smirks a little as he settles back into the soft, plumped pillows. He has to admit, it's a lot comfier now.

 

Despite the war raging inside of Phil between his white blood cells and an ill-timed virus, he feels pretty content. No matter what else is happening in their strange, unpredictable, rollercoaster lives, sitting with Dan and watching a film they’ve both seen a thousand times will always be infinitely comforting.

 

It’s as familiar and necessary to Phil as slipping the two flimsy, transparent discs into his eyes each morning in order to see.

 

Despite having chosen the movie, Dan still snorts to himself as the title screen fades into view. Phil chuckles too, settling in for a nice, un-serious break. 

 

“I think these guys were onto something, y’know.” Dan says casually.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I mean… sure it’s impractical, but that’s just irrelevant to them.” Dan explains; Phil turns to look at him, amused. “Their budding romance is interrupted by a… mild inconvenience, do they throw in the towel? No, they fuckin’ roll with it.”

 

Phil purses his lips, trying not to laugh. “A _mild_ inconvenience?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Okay, so a bit more than mild.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“The point is, this unexpected and crazy event happens, but instead of being dicks about it, they choose to fit their lives around the experience.” Dan says with a shrug. “Like good people.”

 

“Well, it’s either that or sell all the dogs to a crazy lady who wants to skin them alive, so…” Phil replies, and Dan turns to glare.

 

“They don’t keep all 101 dogs because they _have_  to, Phil.”

 

“Right.” Phil says with a chuckle. After a moment or two, watching the spotted canines scamper about on screen, Phil’s smile fades and he grows thoughtful. “No, you’re right. They kept them because they wanted to.”

 

* * *

 

They reach New York, and everything gets a little bit worse.

 

As much as Phil would rather not accept that he’s unwell, it gets harder to ignore as his days fill up with activity. They perform two _sold out_ shows on actual Broadway. Phil can’t enjoy either of them.

 

Before they set off for America, they’d decided to hire Phil’s old school friend Mark to be their professional photographer. Then, after some consideration, they’d decided if they were going to commemorate this momentous cross-continent trip, they should do it properly. So Mark earned himself a ticket, and so did four members of a professional film crew, to follow them about in the hopes of getting some footage for a ‘behind the scenes’ tour documentary.

 

This leaves Phil feeling pretty negatively about the idea of lazing about in the tour bus all day, wallowing in his sickness, while the Big Apple waits just outside its walls. He and Dan are paying a great deal of money to employ all of these people to capture the excitement of their glamorous tour lifestyle. So, despite feeling as though he’d rather hike up the side of Everest in his bicycle shorts (a mistaken online purchase that will never see the light of day), Phil insists that as soon as they get to New York, they go out and explore.

 

Dan makes it vehemently clear that he is not a fan of this idea, as is to be expected.

 

Not only does Phil have the current pallor of a Shrek-Casper The Friendly Ghost hybrid, but the weather welcoming them in New York City is a reflection of how Phil feels in his gut – miserable and sickly.

 

Nevertheless, Phil is determined not to let his body’s weakness get in the way of their good time, nor is he going to let he and Dan attach their names to a boring documentary. So, after a lot of bickering with Dan, which is only resolved by Phil puppy-dog-eyeing him - honestly, Phil shocked that even worked - they all head for Times Square.

 

The narrow, intimidatingly tall skyscrapers tower over he and Dan as they trudge side by side down the rain-slicked pavements. Their raincoat hoods are pulled up, and they keep their heads down as they push through the crowds of tourists, both to avoid the rain, and being recognised.

 

It’s beautiful here, in a sense. All lit up with ketchup-red Coca Cola adverts and beaming, white teeth models, gazing down from their high, plasma screen windows into the world.

 

Phil never fails to be awed by the madness, the overwhelming ferocity of this slice of capitalist paradise. It's like something out of a futuristic film, seeing all the bright, gleaming technology. An advert per square inch of the tiny area, packed with gawping crowds of crane-necked tourists. Even as he stares however, Phil is hyper aware of Dan’s gaze, stuck to the side of his face as though waiting for him to topple over.

 

He’s pretty sure Dan hasn’t even glanced around himself at the Times Square view. Mark has all but given up snapping photos of them, probably because it looks too weird to have dozens of photographs of Dan staring at Phil with a crazed intensity and nothing else.

 

“Dan,” Phil says, turning to him with a sigh, “I’m okay. Stop worrying.”

 

“Who says I’m worrying?” Dan grumbles, embarrassed at having been caught out. He hesitates, scuffing the pavement with the tip of his shoe. “Do you need anything?”

 

Phil blinks at him, surprised by the question. “Like what?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dan shrugs, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Phil watches him, head tilting to one side in curiosity as he surveys his rain speckled best friend. His golden tan, which Phil mildly hates him for, is covered in a thin mist of moisture from the humid air; the bright lights of the flickering adverts above them glint and shimmer over him. He is an ethereal being of light beneath the dark cloak of his hooded rain coat. “To sit down? Painkillers? I’ve got some paracetamol in my bag if you want it.”

 

Phil considers him further, a small smile appearing on his lips as the sluggish pound of his sickly heart picks up speed. Despite the cold weather, Phil feels a warmth spreading through his chest. 

 

“Thanks, but I’m honestly okay.” Phil tells him, and Dan sighs.

 

“Let me know.”

 

Turning from him to strike a funny pose for a photo with Mark, Phil tries to gain control over his rampant emotions. It's getting to be rather confusing, having Dan be this caring and sweet. It's spreading a buttery haze over Phil's determination not to get involved with him romantically right now, making it hard to remember why that determination is there at all. 

 

Try as he might, Phil still hasn’t figured out what he and Dan are supposed to do with everything that’s happened. It’s dreadfully, worryingly tempting to just give in and hand Dan the thing he says he wants, suddenly. But that's just it... where has this apparent new desire come from? Dan's wandering around spouting confessions of love at Phil every five seconds nowadays, and it's more than enough to send Phil reeling every damn time. After all, he's grown pretty used to the Dan that would rather shoot himself in the foot than say that particular four-letter word. 

 

So Dan's mind has spun a full 180 degrees, and now out of seemingly nowhere, he wants Phil again? It doesn't make any sense. What on earth has changed his mind so drastically? 

 

After all, Phil’s been trying to give himself to Dan for _years_.

 

It's not that Phil doesn't believe Dan has feelings for him, exactly. He's always suspected that may be the case. It's just that it's difficult for Phil to quite wrap his head around the idea that Dan could have rejected him time and again with perfect ease, in spite of these buried feelings, and that it's only now, for some inexplicable reason, that he's able to admit that had all been for show.

 

Until Phil has sorted out his own thoughts on the bizarre, unexplained change of Dan's intrinsic personal philosophy, he's adamant that he won’t let anything happen between them that could confuse things. To put it bluntly, Phil is not going to allow himself to be anything more than Dan's friend, indefinitely.

 

He can't get tangled up in something as messy as the Birthday Sex palava again. 

 

He's not sure he'd survive it.

 

Phil can already forsee how difficult it's going to be to muddle through his feelings about Dan and all that he's said. It might take a very, very long time, in fact. There's still lots of hurt and resentment hidden in the creases and folds of Phil's deflated heart. It could take years to clean it all out, and even then, Phil isn't sure his heart would be strong enough to endure another potential battering. Perhaps it's better to just... keep things simple. They can remain friends, surface-level companions with secret, hidden depths to their fake-happy relationship.

 

It's by no means a first choice option, but it might be all they have. 

 

“Phil?” Mark is saying; there’s a hand on his shoulder, and his friend is suddenly very close to him, a worried expression on his face. “You okay, buddy? Lost you for a moment there.”

 

“Wha..?” Phil asks dazedly, plummeting out of the whirlpool of his thoughts and back into the streets of New York with alarming speed.

 

The skyscrapers sway from left to right above his head, like palm trees in a thunderstorm. The garish, bright lights of the screens make Phil squint, and he shields his eyes with one shaky hand. Sickness sizzles up into his chest, and Phil can feel his palms growing cold and clammy. 

 

“Woah, what’s happening here?” Dan is saying from somewhere nearby, but Phil can’t see him, everything is too bright.

 

“He just zoned out,” Mark says, bewildered.

 

“Okay,” Dan says firmly, pushing Mark’s hand off his shoulder as he slips his own around Phil’s waist. “Let’s go.”

 

“Oh my God, it’s Dan and Phil!”

 

Phil’s heart sinks faster than the arm around his middle retracts back to Dan’s side. He lets his hand fall from his eyes, and fixes his grin in position, turning on the spot to hug three bright-eyed, excitable fans.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, acting like tourists in Times Square is difficult for two successful YouTubers, even if they have kitted themselves out in dark, bland raingear. They obviously didn’t help themselves by dragging a film and photo entourage into the mix; consequently, they stood for around fifty fan photos, the crowds swarming as they attracted more and more attention. Finally, they were forced to make a swift exit from the area.

 

In the cab, Phil is adamant that they sightsee at least one other place before heading back to the bus; Dan tries to protest, but Phil wins out eventually, getting Mark on his side.

 

Dan sighs in frustration, but leans forwards to tell their driver to take them five minutes round the corner to Central Park.

 

Mark sits in between Phil and Dan, looking mildly uncomfortable to be in the centre considering the leftover frosty atmosphere of their disagreement over the rest of the day's plan. He plays with his camera silently, flicking through the photos he's taken thus far on the tiny display screen. Dan faces forwards, looking equally determined not to say a word. 

 

In truth, Phil knows Dan is right. He’s trying not to let it show, but he can feel his body flagging already. Posing for those fan photos had been difficult, as he’d obviously been trying to feign complete health the whole time. He should be heading back to rest right now, probably. But they're in New York, and they have a rare free day to explore it. There's no point in wasting this opportunity just because Phil's a little under the weather. 

 

He leans his forehead against the cool, condensed back window, sighing at the icy touch against his feverish skin. Dan eyes him worriedly from the other side of Mark, still not saying anything. 

 

It seems to Phil that he blinks and they arrive, which is not a good thing. He’d felt a strong sense of relief flooding his worn out body as he’d sat motionless in the back of the cab, but now he's upright once more, and the whole of Central Park stretches out ahead of him, vast and intimidating.

 

He walks straight over to a nearby set of railings whilst their director, Ed, and the crew haul the camera equipment out of their separate cab; Dan follows hot on his heels, eyes round and attentive as Phil clings to the rails to support himself.

 

“Are you okay?” Dan asks, his voice strained. “Look, we can call it a day if you want. Nobody’s going to be upset if you’re feeling too unwell for this.”

 

“It’s been like an hour.” Phil argues petulantly, not looking Dan in the eye. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m just tired.”

 

Dan chews his lip, silent for a moment. “Let’s get a coffee, then.”

 

Phil wants to kiss him.

 

Figuratively, of course.

 

Instead, he just nods emphatically, such enthusiasm written on his face that Dan laughs at him.

 

They cross the road to a place called ‘Earl of Sandwich’. Dan orders he and Phil two triple shot caramel latté’s, and normal white coffees for everyone else. Phil smiles at him, and Dan smiles back timidly, acknowledging the shared secret of their origin story that pops up in their sickly sweet coffee orders every time he places one.

 

By the time he and Phil return to the others, giggling about the fact that ‘Sandwich’ is a real place in the UK, and that it obviously must have an Earl, the crew have set up.

 

The coffee helps, some.

 

It gives Phil a burst of energy, just enough for he and Dan to wander around a section of Central Park and take some photos sitting at the community chess tables, getting scared by the horse and carriages, and other cutesy activities.

 

Then, inevitably, the caffeine kick wears off, and things take a turn. Conversations around Phil turn to gibberish, and he can barely hold his eyes open. The ground feels like a trampoline beneath him, and then he feels the smack of wet, gritty tarmac on the palms of his hands. Suddenly, there are hands on his shoulders, and he’s being ushered into the back of another cab; this time, Mark doesn’t seem to be around.

 

He closes his eyes, leaning back against the leather seat with a quiet groan. It’s too much effort to open his eyes, but he can sense that it’s Dan beside him. It’s comforting knowing he’s there, because at least Phil knows that Dan will make sure he’s okay. So Phil lets himself lean in close, his shoulder pressed into Dan’s, his head lolling towards him.

 

Later, much later, when the sensation of being hurtled through city traffic has ceased, Phil wakes up from what he feels has been a long nap. He expects to wake up in his uncomfortable bed on the bus, but instead he’s in an unfamiliar room; the mattress and thick quilt is soft and plush beneath him.

 

There’s something rigid sticking into his side, and he shuffles, grunting a little, trying to shift so it’s not digging into him.

 

“Phil?” A soft voice says, and Phil jumps, heart hammering.

 

He sits up blearily, squinting in the light which streams in through ugly pink curtains. “Dan?”

 

He waits for his eyes to adjust, groggy and disoriented. Slowly, the dark, familiar shape of Dan clears in front of him, or sort of… underneath him, actually.

 

Phil looks down at his own body, shocked to see it’s draped more or less across Dan’s torso and lap. The rigid thing he had felt would appear to be Dan’s hipbone, he surmises. There’s an especially creased patch on Dan’s grey jumper, and Phil flushes, just sensing that’s where his head was moments before.

 

“Hey.” Dan says in a gentle voice. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“W-where are we?” Phil asks, ignoring the question.

 

He feels _awful._ The room is reeling around him, making him feel drunk and nauseous. It’s like he’s still on the tour bus, on a particularly rocky road, whilst reading a thick, heavy book.

 

He rests his forehead in a shaky, clammy hand, groaning softly. He hadn’t even realised how much his head was throbbing, but now he can hear the blood drumming in his ears.

 

He feels Dan’s arm slip around his shoulders and shivers, nestling into his warmth.

 

“Phil?” Dan asks, not bothering to conceal the worry in his voice now. “Phil we’re in a hotel, okay? I got us a room here to give you a break from the bus.”

 

“I’m c-cold,” Phil stutters out, rubbing at his upper arms, then wincing as the friction of it burns his skin.

 

“I know Philly, but you’re burning up.” Dan says, sounding pained. “It’s the fever. I can’t let you overheat.”

 

Phil leans back against the pillows behind him with a frustrated sigh. He shivers as Dan’s arm slips from his shoulders, teeth starting to chatter.

 

“Here, let me take this off,” Dan is saying, and then there are hands tugging at the hem of his jumper.

 

His eyes flick open as Dan, with a little bit of a struggle, hauls the garment off him, leaving his chest bare. Once it’s off, Dan holds the jumper in his hands, staring into Phil’s eyes as though he’s only just realised what he’s done.

 

Phil imagines he can hear Dan’s heart pounding, but it might just be his own.

 

They lock eyes for several moments, not sure what to do next. Dan’s gaze flicks, embarrassed, down to Phil’s jumper, eyes scanning the pattern of foxes on it as though trying to hunt each one down.

 

“Won’t you get sick?” Phil asks in a hoarse voice, the thought only just occurring to him in this thick swamp of ill-mindedness.

 

The change of subject seems to calm Dan somewhat, and he settles back into the spot beside Phil, the tips of his ears still pink. “The doctor pretty much said that if I was gonna get whatever you have I would’ve got it by now.”

 

A wrinkle forms in between Phil’s brows. “Doctor?”

 

Dan glances over at him, chewing his lip. “Yeah. We called one out while you were asleep. You woke up for a bit and she asked you some questions. You don’t remember?”

 

Phil tries to orientate his thoughts, frowning. “Kinda.”

 

Every memory from the past few days is filtered by a smeary, mucusy film. He thinks he can just about recall an unfamiliar woman in the room with him, Dan’s voice a steady, low rumble in the background, her answering him in curt, short snips.

 

But it doesn’t seem real.

 

“She gave you something and you passed out.” Dan shrugs. “Maybe it made you forget.”

 

Phil shakes the thoughts away. It’s scary not knowing something that big. It’s like waking up after being blackout drunk, not being able to remember exactly what happened the night before, but having that quivering flutter of unease low in your stomach.

 

“What day is it?” Phil asks, suddenly thinking about the tour.

 

Dan bites his lip hard, not answering straight away. “Don’t worry about that.”

 

“Dan,” Phil says urgently, not in the mood for messing about, “tell me- oh my God, we have a show tonight, don’t we?”

 

“Phil, you’re in no state to do a show-”

 

“Fuck that.” Phil declares, scooting forwards along the bed and standing up.

 

He sways on his feet, vision clouding over, but he manages to stay upright.

 

“Phil, what are you doing? Get back on the bed.” Dan urges, panicked.

 

“No, it’s better to get up now. I can get used to it.” Phil says defiantly. “How long have we got till the show?”

 

“Phil, you’re gonna make yourself even sicker.” Dan protests, standing up as well.

 

Phil ignores him, wobbling over to the light switch on the wall and flicking it on. The room floods with artificial, glaring light, and Phil winces, but doesn’t let himself close his eyes. It’ll be way worse staring into stage lights, after all.

 

“I’ll be fine.” Phil says firmly, and he can feel Dan’s despair.

 

* * *

 

During the two hours of the show, Dan is practically frantic with worry. It’s a contained, expertly compressed anxiety that only Dan could manage to hide, but Phil can feel its intensity from the other side of the enormous Broadway stage.

 

Dan is a hawk, watching Phil with staring, beady eyes every time the two of them aren’t visible to the audience. The very moment they step out of the spotlight, Dan’s staged grin evaporates, and he is at Phil’s side, an arm around his waist as he asks how Phil feels, shouting at crewmembers for water or a stool to sit on.

 

In a sort of haze each time he is off stage, Phil just allows this to happen, utterly at the mercy of Dan’s ridiculous levels of hyper-care. The adrenaline of being out there, performing in front of all the fans is just about enough to keep him going. In the interim moments however, he more or less collapses in on himself, utterly drained.

 

He can feel Dan tearing his hair out with concern. Each time they need to go back out there he can sense the argument on the tip of Dan’s tongue that they should stop the show, apologise and get Phil to the nearest bed or possibly hospital, but Phil strides back out before he can say it aloud.

 

Once they’ve thrown their hats into the air at the final bar of ‘The Internet Is Here’, Phil is a shell of himself. He makes it through the bows, then the second round of bows, then takes three steps into the darkness of the wing, and collapses. Dan falls down with him, as though they’re tethered, shouting to people to “fucking do something” as he helps Phil into the dressing room.

 

He must make it there somehow, probably, but the next thing he remembers is waking up back in that same dark hotel room, Dan snoring at his side.

 

* * *

 

 

After this really, really bad period, things slowly begin to improve. Phil sleeps for about twenty hours and when he finally awakens he feels a lot better. This does not mean that Dan fusses over him any less, but Phil just rolls with it because he knows he gave everyone a scare.

 

He’s not immediately back on his feet anyway; there’s definitely still a fluey lethargy hanging about him like a bad smell. He does insist, however, on attending the YouTube Creator’s Summit on the fourth of May, as they’d both been looking forward to it a lot.

 

“Phil, you fainted on stage _yesterday_.” Dan argues, his face one of utter despair.

 

“Not _on_ stage.” Phil points out, slipping on his jacket. “I made sure the fans didn’t see.”

 

Dan doesn’t reply, which is weird, so Phil turns to look at him, only to find that Dan is rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

 

Phil can’t help the chuckle that escapes.

 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Phil!” Dan shouts, lifting his head to glare. “You’re being totally irresponsible. You could get even more ill, or- or spread it to everyone at the Creator’s Summit, or-”

 

“Dan.” Phil interrupts softly, kneeling down in front of him with a small wheeze. “I know I scared you. I’m sorry, okay? But I promise you I’m alright now. I won’t go mad at this thing tonight. I’ll have one drink, and we can leave before midnight.”

 

Phil waits, staring into Dan’s eyes, listening to his breathing start to calm and slow. He doesn’t realise his hands are on Dan’s shoulders until he feels them lose some of their tension. He retracts them quickly, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

 

“Promise me.” Dan says through his teeth.

 

“What?” Phil asks, incredulous.

 

“Promise me you will have one drink at the thing, then find me at eleven fifty-nine _latest_ so we can come back here to sleep.” Dan says carefully, his mouth shaping each word with precision.

 

Phil’s instinct is to rebel, to shut Dan down with a scornful eye roll and an accusation of his melodramatic reaction. But there’s something in Dan’s eyes that he recognises. Something that very much resembles the look in his own eyes during the long, terrifying aftermath of checking Dan out of hospital with a head wound the size of the Grand Canyon.

 

He wouldn’t wish the level of anxiety he felt whilst he agonised over Dan’s recovery on anyone. He particularly wouldn't wish it on Dan.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Phil says after a moment’s hesitation, giving Dan a small smile. “I promise.”

 

There’s a drawn out second where Dan scrutinises his face, seemingly searching it for a hint of dishonesty. Eventually, he relaxes, accepting Phil’s word.

 

“Okay.” Dan says, nodding once. “Then let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Phil keeps his promise.

 

He surprises himself a little, but he turns down Alfie’s offer of drink number two, and Dan isn’t even around when he does it. He poses for an enormous group selfie with tons of other YouTubers, has some laughs with people he hasn’t seen in a really long time – Felix, Louise, Grace, Marcus, Tyler and Connor, to name a few. There are more, too, and as the night wears on, Phil gets a little exhausted repeating the same condensed version of 'tour life' to the hundreds of people that ask. 

 

By the tenth time he's told the same, moderately unfunny joke to someone, he's about ready to drop. As he checks his phone to discover it's only eleven o'clock, Phil sighs with the realisation that Dan is totally correct and he is not in fact fully recovered yet. He decides to scour the room for his irritatingly logically-minded best friend. 

 

Phil finds him talking to Louise at the side of the room near the large, decadent snack table, the two of them giggling together about something. He walks up, smiling faintly at the sight of them, and touches Dan on the arm.

 

Dan turns away from Louise at once, his beaming smile softening into one of fondness. Phil completely expected Dan to get wasted at this event, as is typical of him at YouTube parties, but he’s surprisingly with it, despite the lateness of the hour.

 

His eyes are focused and bright, and he seems full of energy still, not even swaying on the spot. He isn’t even holding a cup.

 

Phil is a touch thrown by the realisation of Dan’s sobriety this evening. It’s unusual behaviour for him to say the least.

 

“What’s up?” Dan asks Phil quietly, signalling to Louise that he’ll be just a moment as he leads Phil somewhere a little quieter to talk. “You feeling ok?”

 

“Yeah.” Phil reassures him, smiling. He feels his eyelids drooping though, probably giving himself away. “I just thought maybe we could head back soon.”

 

Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

 

“Well, I mean, you can stay if you want.” Phil blurts suddenly; for some reason that option hadn't even occurred to him before now. “If you’re having fun and stuff, don’t let me-”

 

“Shut up, you nonce.” Dan says, beaming at him. He takes hold of the tips of Phil’s fingers, discreetly, and squeezes once before letting go. “You know as well as I do that these things suck without you.”

 

Phil doesn’t really know what to say in the face of a compliment of such absurd magnitude. The tips of his fingers feel like they’re burning, and he taps them against his thigh, not sure how to make it stop.

 

“Um,” Phil stutters, and Dan laughs at him.

 

“Just let me tell Louise we’re off.” He says, darting him another quick smile before walking back over towards her.

 

Phil watches from across the room, huddled in a darkened corner of the YouTube space, as Dan, draped in his godawful grey Yeezy jumper, explains to their good friend that he’s abandoning her to go and spend the evening watching crap TV in a mediocre hotel room with Phil.

 

How different this night might have gone if it had happened even one year ago.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sorry I’m so sleepy,” Phil mumbles, barely intelligible.

 

Dan chuckles softly from the pillow opposite, his breath puffing out over Phil’s face. It tickles his nose, making him sniff.

 

“I mean, I’d complain if it wasn’t so fucking cute.” Dan says, and Phil can hear the smile in his voice.

 

Phil’s eyes peel open to stare at him in the darkness. “It’s so weird.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Hearing you say that stuff.” Phil says awkwardly, swallowing. “I never thought you’d-”

 

The words stick in Phil’s throat before they can come out.

 

“I feel like I need to tell you all the time.” Dan confesses. “I spent so long not saying it that now it’s kind of physically painful not to.”

 

Phil huffs out a semi-laugh, not sure how else to react. “You’re weird.”

 

Dan outright laughs at that. “Yeah. So they tell me.”

 

“Sorry I insisted we do the show yesterday.” Phil says out of the blue, badly needing to change the subject somehow. “That was probably really reckless and stupid.”

 

“It was.” Dan agrees, but his voice is soft, still. “Luckily for you it worked out great, but, like… don’t do that again.”

 

“What, the show or the fainting?”

 

Dan kicks him in the leg. “The fainting. The being ill. The 4am fevers and the shaking and the nausea and the cough that sounded like a damn death rattle.”

 

Phil’s mouth falls open a little, hearing the worry in Dan’s voice. “You were really scared, weren’t you?”

 

Dan stares at him like he’s gone insane. “Of _course_!” Dan nearly cries out. “Of course I was fucking scared, Phil, what’re you on about? Don’t you remember all the sobbing and the screaming at people?”

 

_Wait, what?_

 

“No…” Phil says, confused. “What sobbing and screaming?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Never mind. It’s better that you don’t remember, honestly. It was a bad time, but fingers crossed we are out of the woods now. Let’s just move the heckity-heck on.”

 

Phil wants to probe further, but he’s exhausted. He makes a mental bookmark for this conversation, vowing to return to it as soon as he and Dan are next able to freely discuss it.

 

“You know what the worst bit was?” Dan says suddenly, and Phil turns towards him. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The tone of his voice reminds Phil of a deflated balloon. “All I kept thinking that this was, like… karma. That I’d fucked you over so badly that the universe was taking you away. That it’d given you back for a little while, just so I could start to hope of fixing things between us, and then it was gonna rip you out of my reach. Forever.”

 

“Dan…” Phil says, not knowing how to reach out, quite.

 

“When you fainted after the show… I know it was stupid of me, because it was obviously just exhaustion, but I couldn’t get it out of my head that you were dying.” Dan says, forcing out a laugh even as a tear dribbles out of his eye. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” Dan asks, his teeth gritted. “Then when the doctor came, I swore I could hear her saying it. That you were too sick, and that I should have taken better care of you. That I shouldn’t have let you push yourself so hard.”

 

Phil places his hand on Dan’s upper arm, but he appears not to feel it.

 

“It would have been the perfect way to punish me for what I’ve done.” Dan says quietly. “It would have been horrific and unfair to take you instead of me. When you’ve never done anything. When all you’ve done is take all the shit I dealt you.” Dan sniffs, and Phil tightens his hold on his arm. “Then to force me to live with it. The guilt. The grief. That would be the ultimate karmic retribution. It would destroy me, completely.” There’s a pause, and Phil’s mind swims in circles, trying to think of a response. “Because all I’ve ever, ever wanted is you.”

 

“Dan, you idiot,” Phil says in a gentle voice, reaching up with his other hand to stroke the round, soft shape of Dan’s face. He scrabbles for words that will live up to the magnitude of what Dan is telling him. Instead, he says: “I’m not dying of the flu.”

 

Dan turns on his pillow, facing Phil. He smiles weakly, but he looks miserable, and it hurts Phil’s heart.

 

“I’ll die of something way cooler than that.” Phil tells him with a watery responding smile.

 

He hopes Dan can hear the emotion behind his jokey response, because there aren’t words that he could hope to find that would effectively express it.

 

Dan manages a weak chuckle. “Prob’ly something animal-related.”

 

“Definitely animal-related.” Phil agrees, nodding. “Or maybe of a cringe attack from some awkward situation you get us into somehow.”

 

“Oi.” Dan says, poking him in the chest. “Let’s be real, you’re almost definitely gonna die of tripping over something, Mr Clumsy.”

 

“Not gonna lie, navigating the TATINOF set with my clown feet is a daily struggle for me.” Phil jokes, laughing now. “I say my goodbyes to the world before each rehearsal.”

 

Dan laughs too, wiping away a leftover tear. “To be honest, I think Vegas holds a pretty big threat for you. There’s a lot of bright distracting things there. And big fountains. And tigers. And rollercoasters that run through buildings.”

 

Phil nods faux-seriously. “You're right. Bright, shiny attractions beside hundreds of potential hazards. It's basically a Phil death-trap.”

 

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you when we arrive.”

 

“You’ll be too birthday-hyper to be a responsible guardian.”

 

Dan considers this. “Hmm, true." He shrugs dramatically, smirking. "I guess you’re biting it in Vegas then, sorry mate.”

 

Phil smirks back. “Haven’t got long then.”

 

“Better make the most of life while you still can.”

 

“Maybe we should do something stupid and reckless.” Phil suggests, his smile turning mischievous before he can consider the implication of his words.

 

Dan hears the possible double meaning a fraction of a second before Phil, and his eyes widen, a blush flooding his cheeks. Phil draws his hand away from Dan’s cheek as though the heat pooling there is burning him, and tries to think of something other than the proximity of their bodies on this plush hotel bed.

 

“Skydiving.” Phil blurts, heart jackhammering in his chest. “That’s something we could do. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

 

There’s a silence.

 

“Yeah,” Dan agrees weakly, “that’s totally what I was gonna say.”

 

Phil doesn’t exactly want to leave the conversation there, as he knows that they will both end up overthinking it. His body, however, has other plans, and they all involve fighting his exhaustion with a long, heavy sleep.

 

“Night, then.” Phil says.

 

There’s a silence, and Phil wonders if Dan has fallen asleep. Then, out of the darkness comes a small, breathy voice.

 

“Night.”

 

* * *

 

 

They go to Niagra Falls. They go everywhere they can. They want to see every single part of America (and Canada) while they’re on this mad adventure, and they want to see it all together.

 

The whole of their time in Canada feels like some jokester-deity in the sky has designed he and Dan a gushingly romantic getaway.

 

Everything is too perfect.

 

They scream with laughter as the water from the falls pelts against their pink cagoules on the Hornblower. Dan clutches Phil’s arm as the boat steers closer to the enormous waterfall, so close it seems like they’re going to be crushed by the thundering stream. Phil shields him with his mac without thinking about it, the action utterly pointless, as Dan is wearing one of his own.

 

The boat retreats to a distance where they aren’t being totally soaked, and Dan grins as he stares up at the falls, sighing wistfully.

 

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Dan asks, smiling. “I didn’t think I’d get it, but I do.”

 

Then, giddy off of the hype of seeing something so magnificent, so epic and dangerous and beautiful, Phil replies:

 

“Totally. It’s making me wet.”

 

Dan doesn’t stop laughing for the entire trip back to shore.

 

* * *

 

They go to a baseball game in Toronto. They drink beer and eat popcorn and don’t wish that all the sports-malarkey would hurry up and end like they normally might. By the time it’s over, they’re tipsy and high off the mob mentality of all the dedicated Blue Jays fans, so Phil grabs hold of Dan’s hand as they push through the crowd, again not thinking.

 

Around two minutes later, they hear high-pitched screaming, which they have learned to associate with being ‘spotted’ by fans, and Phil drops Dan’s hand like it’s burning. He catches Martyn’s eye as he signs wrists and elbows and takes a dozen selfies; his brother is frowning.

 

A girl throws a blown up condom onto the stage that night.

 

And again the next night.

 

Dan wants to keep it as a souvenir, but Phil persuades him to leave it.

 

They try and get a load of the crew to come for a dinner at the top of a revolving restaurant on the final night they’re there, but everyone is wrung out with exhaustion, and refuses the offer.

 

“Come on, Martyn!” Phil says, shaking his brother’s shoulder so fervently that it’s rocking the tour bus a little.

 

They’re parked in a hotel car park, having just driven round the whole of the city looking at tourist attractions. Martyn is slumped on the teeny sofa, arms akimbo, eyelids heavy.

 

“No,” Martyn groans. “I’m going to my room, ordering room service and watching pleasant Canadian news stories until I fall asleep.”

 

“Am I invited?” Cornelia calls from the driver’s seat, where she’s propped her legs up on the wheel.

 

“I guess.” Martyn answers with a tiny smile.

 

“Come on guys, a revolving restaurant!” Phil says excitedly, trying to make it sound glamorous.

 

“I heard all your food revolves too,” Dan jokes, grinning, “you have to spear it with your fork before it spins out of reach.”

 

Phil giggles, but Martyn stays silent.

 

His eyes peel open, flitting to Dan. “I don’t really fancy it. For some reason.”

 

There’s something off in Martyn’s tone. His mouth is a set, hard line as he stares at Dan, and Phil gets the distinct sensation there is something being left unsaid here. Something bad.

 

Sure, there had been some tension in the group dynamic of the four of them immediately after Dan’s 'incident' with the hospital, but Phil had talked to Martyn about it until his ear was about to fall off. He’d explained the situation as best he could, over and over to Martyn, telling him that he and Dan have a complicated and messy friendship, that Dan is a confused, damaged person and that though he can seem unthinking and cruel, he's not malicious. He'd explained that Dan needs him, that's why he'd had such a dramatic reaction to seeing him leave, and that's why it's so important that Phil doesn't leave again. Eventually, likely just to shut Phil up, Martyn had relented and forgiven Dan, agreed to come along for the tour, and to put it all behind them.

 

“Ok,” Dan says quietly, backing down at once in the face of Martyn's obvious cold shoulder.

 

He turns away from the situation, red-faced, and heads towards the back of the bus, into the bedroom, to get something.

 

“What’s going on?” Phil asks his brother, not wanting to mess about if there’s something the matter here. “Are you annoyed at Dan?”

 

Martyn sighs through his nose. “Why don’t you talk to him about that?”

 

Stumped by this nugget of unexpected information, Phil looks towards the bedroom where Dan has disappeared. Like he’s been called, Dan re-emerges, wearing a coat now, and smiles tentatively.

 

“Shall we go, then?”

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Phil doesn’t end up puking all over the lovely meal at the top of the restaurant, as he worries he might. The revolving aspect of it is so slow that it’s practically unnoticeable, so his motion sickness remains undisturbed.

 

It’s a little bit weird it just being him and Dan, sat beside one another, a candlelit table in front of them as they stare out at the lit up city. But it’s weird in a nice way, because, after all, there’s nobody else he’d want instead.

 

“The Manchester Eye.” Dan says after they’ve wolfed down their starters, and Phil almost drops his cocktail in surprise.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s what this reminds me of.” Dan explains, as though it’s obvious. “Doesn’t it you? The slow spinning and the cityscape... Being here with just you…”

 

Phil is blushing now, he can feel it. It feels very warm up here, suddenly. Perhaps the heat of Toronto city below them is rising up to this spinning cabin suspended in mid air. God, now that Phil is thinking about it, that seems like a terrifying notion. Dan is right, Phil hasn't experienced something like this since Manchester, on a different giant metal structure, one that also rotated to show off the views of the sprawling city beneath.

 

He can't breathe, suddenly. Why is Dan bringing this up?

 

The Manchester Eye is a dead memory.

 

It’s been destroyed, both literally and figuratively. Phil doesn’t even want to return to Manchester now, in case he has to walk past the spot where it used to be, and stare up at the vacant, empty hole it’s left behind.

 

The Manchester Eye had been the beginning of them. It had been the end of them too, in a way. After all, if Phil had never made that video that time, and had never told the world how Dan had inched closer on that ride, had tilted his shy, sweet face up and-

 

“Phil, what’s wrong?” Dan asks, putting his drink down.

 

Phil can’t see the look on his own face, but he imagines it’s probably not too happy. “Nothing.” He says automatically, gulping down some of his cocktail.

 

“What’s going on with you and Martyn?” Phil asks instead.

 

Dan looks thrown by the change of subject.

 

“Nothing.” He replies, echoing Phil’s words.

 

Phil looks at him scornfully. “He told me if I wanted to know what was going on I should talk to you.”

 

Dan looks away, seeming to mull something over in his mind. “We just had a little disagreement. It’s nothing to worry about.”

 

“Right.” Phil says sarcastically, shaking his head. He knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Nothing has actually changed. It’s just more lies and pretences of normalcy. “This is so tiring, Dan." He finds himself sighing. He places his drink down on the table, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "I just want you to be honest with me about stuff. Why is it so hard to get you to talk to me? I'm sick of fighting you for the truth, or needing to get you stupidly drunk so you'll spill it accidentally. You bottle everything up. Your feelings, your fears, your insecurities, and I'm just left stabbing in the dark at what they might be-”

 

“We had a fight.” Dan says, so quiet that Phil almost doesn’t hear him. Dan looks pained, twirling his glass in one hand. “About you.”

 

Phil’s heart starts to pound; he can’t quite believe Dan is actually willingly opening up with minimal probing. “When?”

 

“When you were ill.” Dan replies, still twirling the glass. He’s staring at it so hard it's as though he’s trying to make it explode with his mind. Phil waits, expecting Dan to trail off here, to clam up about the specifics, but instead he sighs, scratching his wrist before continuing. “Obviously he was worried about you being so sick, but I couldn’t see past my own panic. He accused me – fairly – of being selfish about how I was dealing with helping you-”

 

“Wait, what?” Phil interrupts, confused. “I don’t understand. How can you be selfish for trying to help me when I’m sick?”

 

Dan unsticks his eyes from the glass, and looks up at Phil, full of pain. Phil can tell at once that he really would rather not say this next part.

 

“Phil, when I was... unwell, after hospital back in June, you- you did everything.” Dan chokes out, eyes glimmering. “You never left me. You literally nursed me back to health.” Dan shakes his head, apparently awed. “I’ve never had anyone care about me that much. So when _you_ got sick, I wanted- no, I _needed_ to be the same for you. I needed to be everything to you. To prove that I love you just as much as you loved me-”

 

“Christ, that again?” Phil mutters, goosebumps rippling sharply over his skin as Dan so casually mentions that inconceivable concept yet again.

 

“Yes.” Dan says, sounding miserable. “I know it sounds crazy Phil, trust me. I guess I didn’t even realise how I was acting when you were ill, but I see it now, obviously. I was trying to be your carer or something, pushing everyone else away, pretending like I was the only one who cared, or the only one who could save you, but… well, obviously that’s insane.”

 

Phil doesn’t know what to say. It _is_ insane, after all, but Dan isn’t crazy. He knows that this behaviour will have come from something darker, something sadder than madness. 

 

“You aren’t like me.” Dan says, more to the general space around him than to Phil specifically. “You have lots of people that love you.” Shakily, Dan picks up his golden cocktail, and takes a sip. “I just have one.”

 

Phil spills some of Dan’s drink over both of them as he leans forwards to encircle Dan in his arms, but he doesn’t care. Dan gasps as the cold liquid splashes over his thigh, but he puts the glass down quickly, all too eager to respond to Phil’s attack hug.

 

“Dan, you are so loved.” Phil tells him in a low voice, his heart positively aching. “Look out at this city. How many people in Toronto alone would die to be sitting where I am right now?”

 

Phil leans backwards, placing a hand on Dan’s cheek. He wipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

 

Dan gives a wobbly smile. “Instead I’m stuck here with you.”

 

Phil smiles back, slightly breathless as he realises how intimate this might look if anyone were to see them in this position. “Yeah, sucks for you.” He pauses, not sure whether to say anything else. In the end, he can’t help it. “I guess I just got really lucky.”

 

* * *

 

In Philadelphia, they devour two Philly Cheesesteaks in about thirty seconds.

 

In Washington, they pay Obama a surprise visit, loitering outside the White House in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him for so long that they convince themselves they're about to be arrested as a security risk.

 

In Chicago, they decide to be cultural, and book a boat tour about the architecture of the city; it rains, and they have to pile inside, therefore missing all the fabulous buildings the guide describes. To console themselves afterwards, they order an authentic deep-dish pizza, and manage about three bites before falling into a cheese coma.

 

(It's a hilarious day.)

 

In Houston, they visit the Space Centre, and Phil buys himself a ketchup-red NASA t-shirt to the tune of Dan's theatrical eye rolling.

 

In San Francisco, they coerce a taxi driver into taking them on a _Vertigo_ -style drive across the Golden Gate Bridge and into the Muir Woods. Mark joins them, and the photos he snaps are so cute and honeymoon-esque in nature that they joke about not being able to share them with anyone else. 

 

They go to the Instagram headquarters, which is surreal, and then on to Seattle, where Dan falls in love with a city of monochrome and modernism. Each time Dan glimpses some pretty building or clever design feature, Phil has the pleasure of watching his eyes light up; it's a struggle to keep a cool head.

 

They find the first Starbucks ever made, and buy two caramel macchiatos, the sappy connotations acknowledged between them in their knowing smiles as they take a selfie, post it to Instagram, then sit down on a bench to drink them side by side.

 

Then, before Phil knows it, it’s June 10th, and they’ve just finished their show in Austin.

 

Next stop, Vegas.

 

* * *

 

They wake up on the morning of Dan’s birthday in the same bed.

 

It takes a while for the implication of this to sink into Phil’s weary brain, as he and Dan have been sharing a bed for some time now, albeit a small, makeshift one at the back of their tour bus.

 

Technically Dan has his own bed, but he’d managed one night in the cramped, narrow cubbyhole before weaselling his way into the only bedroom the bus has; because Phil has a heart as soft as butter, and Dan is the size of a stretched out giraffe, he hadn’t complained.

 

He may have been the one to suggest it, in fact.

 

It’s not as if it has been a particularly unpleasant situation, having Dan in the small double bed with him every night. Honestly, he rarely gets time to dwell on how strange it probably is to have him there, as they’re usually both so tired after the show that they fall straight into the bed without a word.

 

There are nights, of course, when they don’t. Nights where they watch Buffy episodes side by side, forced so close together by the lack of space that they’re practically snuggling. Nights when Phil’s mind warns him to get out of the situation fast, before he grows too attached to the proximity, and Dan inevitably pulls away.

 

He never does, though.

 

In the mornings, Phil wakes up on a jolting bus to find that Dan hasn’t snuck back to his own sorry excuse for a bed in the middle of the night. Often, he wakes to a face full of soft, brown curls, or a haphazard arm slung over his chest.

 

He tells himself that it’s fine, it’s normal, and that even if nothing was awkward between them and they were just two ordinary friends, this wouldn’t be anything to worry about.

 

And then, the night before Dan’s birthday, Dan books them into a hotel.

 

He books one room. One bed.

 

And Phil, against his better judgement, doesn’t say a word.

 

Dan pretends like it’s just because it’s so last minute, and because they’re catching a flight in the morning. Phil goes along with the lie, knowing he would be well within his rights to object, but he just… doesn’t.

 

So it’s 10am on the morning Dan is 25, and Phil wakes up beside him.

 

Dan is already awake.

 

He’s sitting up, shirtless, staring out of the slit between the curtains to his left.

 

One of his hands is playing idly with a strand of Phil’s hair.

 

“Hey,” Phil croaks, his heart fluttering at the sight of Dan beside him, calm and serene in the early morning light.

 

Dan removes his hand quickly, pink roses blossoming on his cheeks; a child caught in the act of doing something he shouldn't. “Oh, hi.”

 

Bone-tired as he is, Phil can’t be bothered to move just yet. He also doesn't want to. Instead, he just stares up at Dan, observing every last inch. His glasses are on the bedside table, so Dan’s edges are blurred, softening his shape into a pretty, rose-golden mist. 

 

Something about the sight draws Phil in, tugging him forwards like a magnet until he's resting his head on Dan’s side. “Happy birthday.”

 

Dan chuckles softly, tentatively bringing his hand back to Phil’s hair. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re twenty-five.”

 

“Hideous, isn’t it?” Dan sighs. As his chest rises and falls, Phil’s head lifts up and down. “Inching closer to death.”

 

Phil laughs, amused. He touches the tips of his fingers to a tiny freckle just below Dan's ribs. “Still cute, though.”

 

Dan’s hand stills in Phil’s hair, and Phil sort of wishes he could take it back. He knows Dan will read into his words, that he’ll wonder if there’s a hidden meaning behind them. This day is loaded with enough already; he doesn’t need to add to the lingering atmosphere.

 

Before Dan can say anything, Phil forces himself up, hauling himself away from the warmth and lovely, soft comfort of Dan's body as he stumbles out of bed. He finds his glasses on the bedside table and slides them on, stretching his arms high above his head before heading to the bathroom.

 

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder, feeling weak, “we’ve got to head to the airport soon.”

 

* * *

 

They fly Business Class from Austin. 

 

Dan insists on it, because it’s his birthday, not that Phil would have denied him. Besides, as far as Phil is concerned, he and Dan are essentially on one big working holiday at the moment. He’s more than happy to splash out for it.

 

They clink plastic champagne glasses as they fly across Arizona, trying to guess where Martyn and Cornelia - who left for Vegas on the tour bus early this morning - might be. Phil imagines them trundling along the desert roads thousands of feet below them, and smiles to himself, sipping champagne.

 

How on earth he managed to procure such a surreal, magical life for himself is a mystery.

 

Just as this thought floats into his mind, Phil feels Dan's head lolling onto his shoulder; he turns, surprised, to find that Dan has fallen asleep. He smiles ruefully, taking the near-empty champagne glass from Dan's limp hand before it spills. It would seem that the exhaustion of tour-life is catching up with him. At least he won't be too tired to go out tonight. 

 

It’s not until the captain announces the temperature and time of day in Las Vegas upon their descent that Phil even considers how strange this all is. It’s been four years since he was last here, with Dan.

 

How different everything is now.

 

He glances down at the boy asleep on his shoulder. For a moment, Phil sees a skinny, lanky kid with a side-fringe to threaten Pete Wentz and a sack full of anxiety issues attached to each of his spindly limbs. Then, he blinks, and Dan is his present-day self again, the years between their Vegas trips having aged him considerably. 

 

One thousand four-hundred and sixty days have worn down Dan's sharp edges, sanding away cruelty born of insecurity, softening him. Even now, as time passes, more of the hidden depths of Dan's soul are revealed; every day Phil feels like Dan is a little more himself, a little more comfortable. A little more beautiful, too. 

 

It doesn't feel, to Phil, as though Dan is changing himself. It feels like he was far away for some time, and now he's sailing home.

 

Dan stirs a little, shifting about on Phil's shoulder, lost to his dream.

 

The years have ben both cruel and kind to them both, Phil decides, reaching up to brush a flick of hair from Dan's brow.

 

One thing is for certain, however. Despite his own reservations, and every second of the time gone by; in this moment, Phil has never loved Dan more. 

 

* * *

 

They land in Vegas, and it’s more than surreal.

 

It’s not exactly the same as Phil remembers it, but nevertheless it’s a shock to the system.  Even stepping through the airport is kind of like wading through a memory-thick swamp. They wander through customs in a daze, Dan bleary from his long nap. Phil persuades him to try on a 'birthday hat' he finds in one of the many airport gift shops, and snaps a photo to post it to Twitter. 

 

Predictably, the tweet gets bombed with likes and retweets, blowing up both of their phones for a bit, and reading the responses and excitable birthday messages under his #HappyBirthdayDan hashtag seems to wake Dan up a bit. A lot, actually. By the time they make it out of the building into the muggy Nevada air, Dan is practically bouncing up and down with what Phil can only describe as 'birthday excitement'. 

 

Perhaps things haven't changed so much since 2012. Phil can distinctly remember Dan being overexcited back then, as well.

 

Vegas seems smaller, somehow.

 

The skyscrapers don’t loom as large overhead, and the swarms of people that seemed overwhelming four years earlier are nothing to Phil now, having faced more people in each night’s audience for weeks.

 

Their taxi driver tells them that the infamous Treasure Island show has been shut down due to health and safety, and that Celine Dion has ceased her seemingly never-ending stage show. The two of them gawp out of the backseat windows as they’re raced towards their hotel, silent and awed by the sight of the infamous Las Vegas strip as it blurs past them, lost in their own private, nostalgic thoughts.

 

Thankfully, Dan chose a different hotel this time.

 

To stay in Caesar’s Palace again would have tipped Phil over the edge of whatever memory-cliff he’s perched on the precipice of, he’s sure. His memories of being here centre primarily around that hotel. The glitz and glamour of it, the rich gold colouring and the sprawling, glittering casino it’s famed for.

 

When Phil thinks of Vegas, he sees Dan at Caesar's Palace bar, a brightly coloured cocktail in each hand, and a twinkle in each eye. He feels Dan’s heavy, easy weight on his lap as he yanks the levers of the slot machines until they clink and splutter silver coins over their feet. He tastes Dan on his tongue as he’s tugged into their suite on a dizzyingly high floor, all hot, wet lips and scrabbling hands in his hair, the grit of glitter on his tongue.

 

Shivering with the memories as they pelt him thick and fast, Phil tries to focus on other things. There is no point in living in the past. 

 

In this vein of thought, tonight they will stay at the Bellagio.

 

It’s almost equally as famous as Caesar's, mostly for the magnificent light-up fountain display outside. They 'oooh' at this very fountain as the taxi swings round to the entrance, entranced by the sheer size and splendour. 

 

A doorman in a gold trimmed uniform opens Phil's door before the taxi is fully stopped, welcoming he and Dan with a white-gloved hand. They glance at each other in amusement before stepping out of the car, only to crane their necks skyward as they take in the enormity of the building before them. Phil's mouth falls open; he can't even see the roof, it's so high.

 

With the air of someone who is all too used to this reaction, the doorman swiftly unloads their bags from the trunk of the car and places them onto a golden luggage carousel like the ones Phil remembers from _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_.

 

“Do you think he rides around on it when nobody’s watching?” Phil asks Dan as the doorman merrily wheels their stuff away into the foyer, leaving no hints about where he might be headed. Phil tries not to be concerned that he's never going to see his clothes again. 

 

“Duh,” Dan scoffs, walking towards the entrance. He throws Phil an excited grin. “Wouldn’t you?”

 

Phil checks them in at the front desk whilst Dan wanders around the foyer, eyes glued to the bizarre centrepiece on the ceiling, entirely made up of brightly coloured umbrellas. The man at the desk must notice Phil watching Dan fondly, as he makes a polite joke about honeymoons that Phil steadfastly tries to ignore.

 

He takes his and Dan's keys, blushing as he pulls Dan towards the elevators. 

 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Dan asks, his voice teasing. "Did you accidentally pull another receptionist?" 

 

Phil glares at him, blushing harder because this is a sore point. Whilst Phil maintains that a cheerful attitude goes a long way when dealing with people in customer service, even he knows that there are occasions when he mistakenly crosses the line over from 'friendly' into 'flirty'. There have been a few occasions when Phil has found himself left stammering and embarrassed in front of a barista or shopkeeper as they slide him their number or ask him on a date, misreading his intentions.

 

Dan has witnessed this happening too many times; to him, it's hilarious. 

 

Thankfully, Dan lets the matter drop, too distracted by his Twitter notifications to concentrate on something as trivial as Phil's unexplained blushing. They zoom up to their floor in a lift with doors that have big, cursive golden ‘B’s’ written on them; Dan pockets his phone as it loses signal, and subtly checks himself out in the mirrored ceiling as they’re carried upwards.

 

Phil catches his eye in said mirror, smirking at him; Dan chuckles, swatting him in the side as his cheeks pinken, caught out. Phil doesn’t blame him for getting distracted by his own reflection; he looks gorgeous, as ever, even in his rumpled, thrown together plane outfit and humidified curls.

 

The elevator pings, signalling its arrival at their floor. As the doors slide open, a wash of fear cascades over Phil's body, drenching him head to toe. This is the point when everything has the potential to turn sour. 

 

Despite his cool exterior attitude, Phil is nervous about today. Understatement.

 

In fact, though he's doing well at hiding it, whenever he so much as thinks about the unknowable, potentially catastrophic evening stretching ahead of them, Phil is on the verge of having an aneurysm. Tonight could be great. It could be a whimsical, funny night out on the town where the worst that happens is that they have one too many shots or end up in a sleazy club.

 

But Phil has learned the hard way not to underestimate his or Dan's birthdays, as they often start out perfectly innocent, only to veer into disaster faster than a blink. Phil has tried his best to prepare for anything. But whether he likes it or not, tonight remains a concealed mystery, the endless possible outcomes stretching on to infinity.

 

Still, he's going to do all that he can to prevent it; one of the precautionary measures he's taken in that direction is to book he and Dan separate rooms.

 

He's pretty sure that this nugget of information is not going to sit well with the birthday boy once its revealed, so Phil's plan is to tell him, then immediately distract him with gifts. Specifically, his main gift to Dan, which is tickets to a show. 

 

Four tickets. One for him, one for Dan... and two extras for Martyn and Cornelia. 

 

The lengths Phil is going to in order to avoid being alone with Dan tonight might seem a little extreme from an outside perspective, but he's leaving nothing up to chance. Birthdays are wild cards. There's no telling what could happen, especially as Phil has been acting so unpredictably towards Dan as of late. One moment, he's burning with the hardened determination of a scorned lover, a Lemonade-drenched Beyoncé, adamant that he'll never give Dan another sliver of affection as long as they both live. But the next second, he might catch a glimpse of a smattering of sun-induced freckles on Dan's cheek, or catch him smiling fondly at something, or be forced to hear words of _love_ from those petal-pink lips.

 

After those moments, all bets are off. 

 

So no, he's not going to let himself be alone with Dan tonight. It's too risky. This day holds too many secrets, too much history. It's a loaded gun, cocked and ready to fire. If the trigger is pulled, then Phil is sure to go down, as will everything that's left of them.

 

Dan lets the door of the room slam shut behind them, making Phil jump. He realises too late that, somewhat ironically, he has just allowed himself to be sealed in this room with Dan, alone.

 

Martyn and Cornelia still haven't arrived; Phil won't complain, as the drive from Austin takes eighteen hours, but the bus did leave Austin at around 1am, so he had sort of expected them to be here already. Phil had tried to convince them to fly with he and Dan, but they'd refused on the grounds that it was a waste of money considering the tour bus would be headed there anyway and they could ride it for free. They could even sleep on the damn thing as obviously the bed wouldn't be in use. 

  

Phil checks his phone again just in case Martyn has an update on their ETA, but he hasn't texted. Sighing, Phil resigns himself to an indefinite period of alone time with Dan, and pockets the phone, turning to face the room in front of him. 

 

His mouth falls open a little, eyes bulging at the size. He knew he'd booked Dan one of the suites, but he had no idea it would be as fancy as this. It has actual rooms, for Christ's sake. There's an honest-to-God chandelier at the foot of the bed. 

 

Dan stands underneath it now, staring at the King-sized bed in front of him, looking perplexed.

 

“Where’s your bed?” He asks; Phil's instinct is to run away from this conversation before it begins. A glimmer of hopefulness glints in Dan’s eyes as he spins to face Phil. “Are we sharing again?”

 

“Uh, no.” Phil admits sheepishly, hitching his rucksack up his shoulder. “Actually, my room’s down the hall.”

 

The disappointment settles into Dan’s features like it belongs there, all but eliminating the bubbly expression that had been there before. He's deflating right before Phil's eyes, and he can't bear it. More than anything he wants to take it back, to tell Dan he was only joking and that of course they can share this fucking palace of a hotel room, but he can't. He won't let himself.

 

This is for the best.  

 

“I just thought it’d be… wiser. Considering the day and everything.” Phil explains awkwardly, trying to to tiptoe around Dan’s obviously hurt feelings as much as possible. Dan looks up at him, pained. “Anyway, let's not think about that." Phil says quickly, hurrying to change the subject like he planned. "I have a surprise for you, look."

 

Tearing his eyes away from Dan's, Phil lets his bag fall off his shoulder, rooting around inside it until he finds the copy of TABINOF he placed in there earlier. He opens the cover, pulling out the tickets he's hidden inside, and hands them to Dan with a flourish. 

 

"Ta da!" Phil cries, trying to be peppy. "I got us all tickets to a show tonight!" 

 

Dan takes the tickets quietly, staring down at them with a passive expression. After a while, he lifts his gaze to Phil, and smiles. It's a little sad around the corners still, but Phil will take it. "This is great," Dan says quietly, "thank you."

 

"Apparently it's a 'hot, wet, extravaganza'." Phil tells him, chuckling. "At least, that's what fifty-four year old Jerry Clarke said in his five-star TripAdvisor review." 

 

Dan splutters with laughter, and it's more genuine now, to Phil's relief. "Well if Jerry recommends it..." 

 

"Oh, he wholeheartedly does." Phil says sombrely, making Dan chuckle again. Phil smiles at the sight of his laughter lines. "Happy birthday."

 

Dan's breath hitches for a moment. Then he sighs, moving to sit down on the edge of his bed, letting his bag fall to the floor. Phil watches him unsurely, trying to figure out what might be going on in that mad little mind. Dan's hand sweeps across the creamy, silken covers; he frowns. 

 

“It was a waste of money. Booking two rooms.” Dan says softly, and Phil swallows; he thought they'd moved past this topic. “This bed is ginormous. Plus we’ve been sharing for months.”

 

“Yeah, but that was because we didn’t have a choice.” Phil points out, his words met with a loaded silence. He waits for a response, but Dan just fidgets, avoiding Phil's eye. “Right?”

 

Their eyes meet; a thousand messages are hidden in Dan's tortured stare, but Phil tears his eyes away, not letting himself read into a single one. Not tonight. 

 

Thankfully, right then there’s a loud banging on the door, making them both jump.

 

“That’ll be your brother.” Dan mutters, just as Phil wanders over to the door, his heart still racing. “Perfect timing, as ever.”

 

Phil chooses to ignore Dan's huffy grumbling in favour of letting more people in to diffuse this steadily worsening tension. He can't fling open the door fast enough, and even when Martyn and Cornelia barge in, spitting countless 'happy birthday's' and stories of their journey, it takes a fair few minutes for Phil's heart to settle to a regular rate once more. 

 

* * *

 

 

The show turns out to live up to Jerry's hype, possibly even exceed it. It's somewhat saucier than Phil expects it to be by quite a long way, but this in no way detracts from the spectacle. It’s a water-themed dance and acrobatics performance called 'La Rêve'. Essentially, there is a large swimming pool in the centre of a circus-style seating area, kitted out with jets and fountains and various other dazzling water features. A team of very flexible, very athletic dancers in skin-tight body suits splash around in the water for an hour and a half, performing all kinds of mindblowing stunts and grinding on one another's bodies. 

 

"Kind of a moist burlesque." Dan sums up as they file out of the exit once it's over, an amused smile playing on his lips. 

 

Phil can't help but laugh at the shockingly apt description, but pushes Dan in the shoulder regardless, just to make a point. Martyn is beetroot red, still, even now it's over, and it's becoming more than a little hilarious. The erotic nature of the dances had apparently taken his brother by surprise. Phil intends to be apologetic about not warning Martyn beforehand, but instead falls about laughing. 

 

"Well, thanks Phil, that was super weird and awesome." Dan says once they're out of the theatre, standing in the midst of Vegas' bright, flashing lights. Phil flicks a smile at him, rolling his eyes fondly. " Now, I'm fucking starving. Can we get something to eat, please?" 

 

Phil takes a deep breath, flipping his switch back into proactive disaster-aversion crew mode. He has prepared an itinerary for tonight that is rock solid if followed properly. He's had a long time to prepare, and he hasn't let it go to waste. Weeks ago, when he’d booked the tickets for the show, he’d also placed a reservation for a private table at a fancy restaurant.

 

Arranging this hadn't been especially easy to do, particularly as he'd needed to explain to the restaurant that there would be a possibility his party might not attend - after all, Phil had no clue what state of mind his best friend would be in tonight when he'd booked it. After a lot of negotiation, and a great deal of expense, Phil had managed to secure an entire room for them to dine in tonight. It had been just as expensive as it sounds. 

 

“Holy crap, Phil,” Cornelia says when Phil casually slips this nugget of information into the conversation about where to eat. “A _private room_? Did you just want it to be you and Dan, or…?”

 

Dan flushes immediately, but waits for Phil’s response as though he genuinely isn’t sure of the answer. Phil tries to laugh off his embarrassment, rolling his eyes as though the question is absurd.

 

“What? No!” He cries, pulling out his phone in order to call the restaurant. “I just thought it’s better to be safe than sorry. Dan complains about being hungry every two minutes. Besides, I knew he wouldn’t be able to make his mind up about where to go.”

 

Dan smiles very slightly at Phil’s jibe, but he still looks completely stunned. His big, brown doe eyes are wide and watchful as Phil makes the call; it’s all Phil can do to avoid his stare.

 

Phil isn't going to back down on his position that this is all completely necessary. He's spared no expense to ensure that this birthday plays out without issue. Vegas isn't exactly known for its tendency to create safe, predictable memories, after all. Phil needs to maintain control of this ship he and Dan are aboard. There's a thick storm ahead, which can be easily avoided with some concentrated, careful steering on Phil's behalf. But if his concentration slips, or he lets go of the wheel, they're going to head straight for it. 

 

He won't let himself be shipwrecked on a lonely, secluded island with Dan again. 

 

So Phil dons his captain's hat, hails the nearest cab, and ushers the others into it, brisk and firm. 

 

It doesn't matter that Martyn and Cornelia probably think he's gone insane. It doesn't matter that Dan is undoubtedly bewildered as Phil takes over his night's plans. 

 

The only thing that matters is that he and Dan get out of this night unscathed, and fall asleep in separate rooms, separate beds, with no regrets to carry into the morning. 

 

As the taxi speeds them down the strip towards their destination, Phil sneaks a look over at Dan, unable to help wanting to gauge his reaction to everything. He seems strangely calm, which is both relieving and worrying. Phil had expected to be met with hostility and anger, he'd expected Dan to resist him every step of the way. Instead, Dan stares silently out of the window, the neon lights of the city reflecting in the whites of his eyes. There’s a tiny smile playing on his plush pink lips, his dimple a faint indent in the glow of his rosy cheek.

 

He would appear every inch a wistful, ethereal elfin creature of the night, if it weren't for the rainbow ‘llamacorn’ piñata tucked under one of his arms. Phil can't help smirking at the peculiarity of it - the juxtaposition of Dan's waif-like beauty in the dark, half-light of this cab against the garish children's toy he clutches to his side. 

 

The piñata had been given to Dan earlier by a member of their crew when they'd dropped by the tour bus waiting for them in the parking lot of their hotel. It had been bestowed upon him like a trophy, alongside a large bottle of Patron. The two ladies of Dan and Phil's hair and makeup team had been the culprits, joking that it suits Dan's branding to a T. 

 

Despite all of his initial groans and facepalms, Dan seems to adore the silly thing, and has been carting it with him through the streets of Vegas ever since.

 

He pulls it off somehow, which is a ludicrous thought, but a true one. Nobody in this mad whirlwind of a city even notices the bizarre accessory. If they do, then Dan simply takes it in his stride, more than happy to be stared at.

 

Phil is all too happy to stare.

 

* * *

 

 

The restaurant staff _fawns_ over them as soon as they arrive, probably because they've assumed Phil is some kind of celebrity, considering the amount he's spent just booking the table tonight. 

 

The four of them walk in, greeted at once by a peppy Italian man with thinning hair. He introduces himself as the head waiter, Manuel, and peppers them with questions about their trip so far. He asks if the four of them are performing a show in Vegas this week. 

 

Dan and Phil then have the surreal experience of actually responding with a 'yes'.

 

At this point, several of the wait staff begin to gush over them. They ask for autographs, attracting the attention of the majority of the suave, elegantly dressed customers dining at the pristine tables dotted around the room. It’s kind of mortifying, but also kind of amazing. It's one of the increasingly frequent moments wherein Dan and Phil are stunned into a trance by the abnormality of their strange, unintentionally glamorous lives. They catch each other’s eye as they scrawl their signatures on napkins amidst a huddle of excitable waiters, sharing an unspoken ‘is this actually happening right now?’. 

 

By the time they've signed the last napkin, both of them are having difficulty keeping a straight face. These people probably don't even know who they are. What a bizarre evening. 

 

Manuel leads them, at last, through the maze of tables and then through a velvet curtain, into a secret back room, as promised.

 

It's comical, truly, that Phil has secured this entire room for just the four of them, as there must be enough tables in here to seat forty. Manuel doesn't comment however, simply seating them at the only laid table, which has been decorated for the occasion with a single, modest 'happy birthday' balloon. As Dan moves to sit, Manuel politely takes the piñata from his hands, looking unsure about what to do with it. In the end, he places it carefully on the floor by Dan's side, and the four of them try desperately not to splutter with laughter.

 

Phil orders a bottle of champagne as soon as he possibly can, needing to get some alcohol down him immediately before he dies of humiliation. 

 

“Phil, fucking hell,” Martyn cries as soon as Manuel has left to get the bubbly, “are you Kanye West? No expenses spared tonight, Christ!”

 

“I thought they were about to roll out a red carpet for us!” Cornelia joins in, laughing, though it comes out in a breath of disbelief.

 

Everyone stares at Phil expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

 

Phil’s heart thumps in his chest. This is a bloody nightmare. Because he _can’t_ explain.

 

He can’t explain that the reason he’s spent so much, and is continuing to do so, is to ensure that the night doesn’t end in a cataclysmic disaster the way all his and Dan’s birthdays tend to.

 

He can’t explain, with Dan sat right next to him, that he’s spending so much money because he’s _petrified_ of this day and everything attached to it, much like a traumatised war veteran, needing to be kept in a controlled environment in case his post-traumatic stress is triggered.

 

He can’t explain. So he won’t.

 

“It’s Dan’s birthday,” Phil mumbles instead, knowing it’s a pathetic excuse.

 

He’s hopeful, nonetheless, that everyone seated here will buy it. After all, he’s pretty sure that all the people at this table are, by now, well aware of how he feels about Dan. Doesn’t it make sense that Phil would go a little nuts, splash a little too much cash, to ensure he has a good birthday tonight?

 

Martyn and Cornelia turn their attention to unfurling their origami napkins, looking very much like they want to end the conversation now. Phil breathes a sigh of relief, scanning the room for a sign of that waiter.

 

“I feel like a trophy wife.” Dan jokes, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

 

It’s a poor choice of words, really. Phil shoots Dan a look of disapproval, but he’s surprised to be met with Dan’s happy, fond smile. It throws Phil for a moment, and he turns away, deciding to just ignore it.

 

Thankfully, it’s at that point that Manuel returns, wheeling a trolley towards them laden with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne. Phil has a sudden, strong urge to jump up and wrap his arms around Manuel's skinny waist; precious alcohol, and not a moment too soon.

 

As the champagne begins to flow, chatter between the four of them slides gently back into less mortifying territory. To Phil's complete surprise, and relief, they begin to joke about Dan’s overreaction to Phil getting sick. He'd been concerned that that would become a ballooning problem in their group dynamic, but it appears that Martyn isn't one to hold a grudge. 

 

Even Dan seems to have moved past the event enough to make fun of himself about it. 

 

“I was like a crazy person,” Dan laughs, shaking his head.

 

“Insane.” Martyn agrees, nodding emphatically. “Trying to reason with you was like trying to wrestle an injured gazelle from a fricking lion.”

 

“Am I the gazelle, or…?” Phil asks, unable to help smirking a little.

 

Dan rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the side. “That implies I would’ve eaten you at some point.”

 

Phil splutters a little as his mouthful of soup goes down the wrong way, and Dan thumps him on the back, chuckling at him. 

 

“He wouldn’t let anyone near you, though.” Martyn continues to tell Phil; Dan's cheeks begin to redden noticeably, and Phil watches with interest as he turns his attention to cutting his tagliatelle into shorter, bitesize pieces. “You were off-limits to anyone but Dan. That one night when we had the doctor out to see you…”

 

Martyn trails off, shaking his head to and fro, eyebrows raised sky high, leaving Phil able only to speculate upon what could have happened.

 

“It’s a really good thing you were asleep for most of it, Phil.” Dan says, his voice subdued now.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone so worried about the flu!” Cornelia pipes up, nibbling on a forkful of green beans. “It was kind of adorable. Scary, but also adorable.”

 

Dan blushes hard, setting his fork down in order to swiftly gulp some champagne. “Yeah, well.” He mumbles, shrugging. All of a sudden, he lets out an uncomfortable, forced laugh. “Can you blame me? I mean, I would have had to carry that stage show all by myself if Phil popped his clogs.”

 

Dan forces another dismissive burst of laughter, then scoops a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

 

Martyn and Cornelia abandon their meals in order to look up at him, frowns on their faces.

 

“Wait, you were worried he was gonna _die_?” Martyn asks, putting his cutlery down for a moment. "Of flu?"

 

Dan looks up from his plate; a deer caught in the headlights of a freight train.

 

“Hypothetically, of course.” Phil interjects quickly, sensing that Dan is in need of rescue here. He forces out a laugh of his own, trying to keep things light. “Dan’s a drama queen. He always jumps to the worst possible conclusion.”

 

Dan shoots him a grateful look, then turns back to Martyn, chuckling. “Yeah, that way I’m not disappointed by the unwavering misery life has to offer.”

 

“Wow, and here I was thinking your death and depression branding was just for show.” Cornelia says, her voice jokey, but with a hint of concern.

 

“No, no, Corn,” Dan says, tilting his glass towards her. “I’m all about that cynical, nihilist aesthetic.”

 

“Still the same MCR-obsessed emo I met six years ago.” Phil says with a wry smile, and Dan narrows his eyes at him.

 

“Excuse you-”

 

“I remember you back then,” Martyn exclaims all of a sudden, laughing uproariously, “oh, you should’ve seen it, Corn. Even when Dan was just over to stay at our house, he’d be elbow to wrist with festival bracelets, hair over one eye, kohl rimmed eyes, black skin-tight jeans…”

 

“What?!” Dan exclaims, though he’s grinning now. “I did _not_ wear eyeliner, that is a complete fabrication-”

 

“Yes you did!” Phil exclaims, laughing. “Actually, I have a photo!”

 

Dan lunges at him as Phil reaches for his phone. “No you flipping well don’t, you bastard-”

 

“Phil, chuck me the phone!” Cornelia cries, delighted. “I have to see this.”

 

* * *

 

At the end of their delicious and hideously expensive dining experience they’re all a little tipsy and giggly, though the great deal of food has prevented them from getting completely smashed off the two bottles of champagne they’ve downed between them.

 

“So, where next, Danny-o?” Martyn asks, leaning back in his chair, one hand over his full stomach. “Hit the town? Paint it red? Et cetera?”

 

“Yup, guess so!” Dan replies, a grin on his face that quickly turns mischievous. “Phil and I know a great strip joint.”

 

He winks theatrically, and Phil chokes on the last drop of his champagne.

 

“Uh…” Cornelia says, cheeks pinkening.

 

“Oh yeah!” Martyn exclaims, thankfully ignoring Dan's poor joke. “I forgot you guys came here before. When was that? Like, two, three years ago?”

 

“Four.” Phil corrects, still blushing in the face of what Dan just said. “For Dan’s twenty-first.”

 

“Wow, you love your Vegas birthdays.” Cornelia comments, eyebrows raised a little.

 

“Can’t get enough of the tack.” Dan shrugs, nodding.

 

“What did you guys do last time you were here, then?” Martyn asks - a question that sends Phil spiralling into a panic almost at once, for obvious reasons. He can practically feel Dan tensing beside him, probably having a similar reaction. “You must have heaps of insider info on where we could go.”

 

“Um,” Phil says, mind racing as he tries to think.

 

“Well, despite my earlier comment we can’t ever go back to The Palomino Club.” Dan says, and Phil wishes the earth would swallow him up whole. “Pretty sure we’re banned from there.”

 

“Wait, _what_?!” Cornelia asks, sitting forwards in shock.

 

Phil rounds on Dan, glaring at him. “Dan!”

 

Dan just grins back happily, not caring in the slightest. “Yeah, Phil assaulted this waitress-stripper there.” Dan says casually, draining the last of his champagne from the glass. “Remember that, Phil? Smacked her right on the ass.”

 

“What the hell?!” Martyn exclaims loudly, and Phil wants to die.

 

“Look, it was an accident,” Phil hurries to explain, his words tripping over themselves. He can hear Dan snorting with laughter to the left of him, and he resists the urge to hit him, barely. “I was gesturing a lot with my hands – we were pretty drunk – and she happened to be standing behind me-”

 

“Excuses, excuses…” Dan sings, smirking.

 

Phil growls, turning to him with a fearsome expression. “Well, _you’re_ the one that got us escorted off the premises.”

 

“Oh my God,” Cornelia breathes, “why have I never heard about this before?”

 

Dan pales, his grin slipping away. His eyes widen, begging Phil to stay quiet. “I… thought you didn’t remember that…”

 

This time, it’s Phil’s turn to smirk. “Oh yes, Danny. I remember.”

 

“What happened?!” Cornelia asks, practically squealing with excitement.

 

Phil turns to grin at her, and he feels Dan clutch at his arm. “Well, although Dan's heartfelt efforts to match the skills of the pole dancers were _entertaining_ ," Phil starts to say, and Martyn immediately turns a brighter shade of scarlet than he had during Le Rêve. “Eventually the staff got a bit irritated with him. Especially as he was covering the poles in, like, glitter and various spirits." 

 

"And they actually kicked you out?" Cornelia asks, eyes like saucers.

 

Phil nods. "We were escorted out by security if I remember correctly." He turns to look at his best friend, grinning. "Right, Dan?" 

 

Dan sits back in his chair, eyes narrowed in what looks like betrayal. “I like how you left out that you were _also_ covered in glitter.” He snips; it makes Phil blush, but it’s worth it. “Oh, and also that you're the one who poured the alcohol over me on the bar before licking it off!”

 

“Okay, I do not need to hear this.” Martyn interrupts, holding his hands in the air in a surrender.

 

“I do!” Cornelia protests, but the boys fall silent.

 

At first they glare at one another, but their expressions quickly melt into amusement, then outright laughter at the shared memory of this night four years prior.

 

When they’ve gathered themselves, they turn to Martyn, who is leant forwards on his elbows, massaging his temples methodically. “Do you guys have any actual suggestions for where we could go?”

 

Phil chews his lip, wondering how to sidestep this question. “Um, not really.”

 

“Yeah, we only went out that one night, on my birthday.” Dan says, shrugging as he turns from Martyn’s stare, pink-cheeked. “It’s so expensive here. That’s all we could afford.”

 

“Yeah, but even on that night!” Martyn protests. Phil exchanges a fearful glance with Dan as it begins to become apparent that Martyn isn't going to let this matter drop. “You must have gone somewhere else. What did you do for the rest of the night?”

 

“Where did you go after you were kicked out of the strip club?” Cornelia asks innocently, a smile still gracing her mouth.

 

Phil refuses to look at anyone. His shoulders are tensing without his permission, and he wishes he had more champagne in his glass so he could stall for time while he drinks it. How the fuck are he and Dan supposed to answer this question? They should have thought out an elaborate lie before they came back to this town, so that this kind of situation wouldn’t occur.

 

He feels his face heating as Martyn and Cornelia stare, wondering what the prolonged silence is all about.

 

“We…” Dan starts to say, his voice small. “Just… went back to the hotel.”

 

Phil cringes at the obvious phrasing, hoping it’s only obvious to him.

 

“Oh,” Martyn says, confused. Then, after a moment: “ _Oh_.”

 

Cornelia says nothing, but Phil can practically hear her mouth drop open.

 

What follows is hands-down the most awkward silence Phil has ever been subjected to, and he has to fight to keep himself in his seat.

 

Eventually, he lifts his head, cheeks still flaming. “Look, it doesn’t matter what happened last time.” He says defiantly, though his voice wobbles traitorously. “We’re not here to relive past experiences. We're here to make new memories for Dan's twenty-fifth! Let’s just go somewhere new.”

 

He turns to Dan, expecting to find him just as mortified by the forced retelling of a chapter in their shameful sexual history. Instead, the younger boy is perfectly composed, a glimmer of amusement in his eye as his mouth tilts into a tiny smirk.

 

“Asshole,” Phil mutters at him, though he feels his shoulders relaxing a little.

 

Dan laughs and winks at him, entirely unfazed. 

 

Luckily, Phil's heart attack response is overlooked by the others as Manuel appears, brandishing a cake. The lights dim, and Phil sinks down into his chair, trying to breathe normally again. He recovers enough to spit out 'happy birthday to you'; Dan meets his eyes across the flickering lights of the candles, the flames glimmering in his coconut-brown eyes. 

 

Not for the first time, Phil yearns to know what he wishes for. 

 

* * *

 

 

Though it is perhaps not the most original thought the four of them have ever had, the unanimous deciding vote of their post-dinner Vegas birthday activity is to go to a casino. They head for the first one they see, as they're not really in the right mindset for a trek. This turns out to be a place called IP Biloxi, which is right next to the restaurant Phil just spent a small fortune in.

 

They head inside, tipsy from the electric Vegas atmosphere and several glasses of champagne. The casino turns out to be utterly enormous, spanning over several floors, so for a while the four of them wander the many rooms in an overwhelmed, mildly drunken daze. 

 

They tour the whole casino at least twice, necking two free drinks each from the few scantily clad girls wandering around with trays. Eventually, in a slurred version of his own voice, Dan announces that he has made his decision to spend his coinage on the _Game of Thrones_ slot machine.

 

He shoves his piñata at Phil, slides into the seat under the watchful eye of Jon Snow, and with a look of grave determination, proceeds to deposit seemingly every cent he has into the machine.

 

He doesn’t win a single coin.

 

“This is statistically not supposed to happen!” Dan yells at the machine; Phil and Martyn fall about with laughter behind him. “I must’ve spent like a hundred quid on this fucking thing. I should at least win _something_!”

 

“Give it up, Dan.” Cornelia urges through her laughter. “Tonight’s not your night.”

 

“It’s my birthday!” Dan protests, but he stands up, kicking the machine softly in frustration. “Fuck you, Khaleesi, I’m never watching _Game of Thrones_ again.”

 

Phil can’t contain his laughter as he watches Dan grow more and more pissed off. He reaches for the back of Dan's seat to support himself, dropping the llamacorn as he does so; Dan scoops it up, growling.

 

“Fuck you too, Phil.” Dan says crossly, though it's difficult for him to seem particularly menacing whilst clutching a rainbow piñata to his breast. “Let’s see you do better.”

 

Phil straightens up, wiping his eyes. “No way. I have no desire to subject my poor, battered bank account to any further abuse.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes theatrically, opening his mouth to protest. 

 

“Drinks, gentlemen? Ma'am?” A lady’s voice asks before he can spit the words out; the four of them turn to find a small, heavily made-up young woman, wearing next to nothing and offering a tray of clear shots.

 

The sight of the shots sets Phil's teeth on edge, as judging by the colour he’s pretty sure they'll be either tequila or vodka. Neither of these strong spirits are going to be conducive to his plan of staying focused and in control of the evening. 

 

Nevertheless, he takes one, as does Dan, and so do Martyn and Cornelia.

 

Well, they’re _free_ after all.

 

They clink the shots together, toasting Dan’s birthday, and knock them back with a lot of exaggerated retching and groaning. The shot-girl giggles at them, gladly receiving their empty glasses.

 

“If you guys want another free shot, all you have to do is use one of the machines.” The girl says enticingly, her bright, winning smile enough to knock even the most asexual being off their feet.

 

“Oh my God, it’s a sign!” Dan cries, shaking Phil’s shoulder excitedly. “Come on Phil, just put some money into Daenerys's game. Then we all get free shots!”

 

“Why me?!” Phil cries, backing away from Dan; he's too close, suddenly. The warmth from Dan's fingers is spreading into Phil's shoulder, misting everything.

 

He doesn’t trust himself right now; the colours in this room are starting to blur together, and Dan seems to be looking more outstandingly gorgeous with each passing moment. Perhaps it’s the sweat curling his hair, or the way his pupils have dilated into two chestnut-rimmed black holes, or the way that black t-shirt he wears clings to his chest, or even the damn _smell_ of him - cinnamon sweet with a tang of something heavy and sharp, like a whiskey ginger, or a drop of hot sauce on a chocolate soufflé-

 

Phil takes another hasty step backwards, very warm all of a sudden. “I thought you didn’t believe in signs!”

 

“Phil, _please_?” Dan whines, pouting at him. “I want another free shot! Just put five dollars in.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes, hating himself because he knows he’s been helpless to give in to Dan’s wish since the moment he asked. Grumbling, he reaches into his pocket, trying to ignore Dan’s little smirk of triumph as best he can.

 

“Fine.” Phil grits out, pulling out two rumpled, sickly green notes. He sighs, walking over to change them into quarters at a nearby dispenser; Dan follows him eagerly, practically bouncing on his heels. “I'll play  _two_ dollars." Phil says firmly; Dan just nods, his eyes wide and gleaming. 

 

"And I wanna put it in this machine.” Phil says, collecting his quarters and marching around to the other side of the row of machines they'd been standing in front of. The others follow him obediently, including the patiently smiling shot girl.

 

Dan snorts when Phil stops in front of his chosen game. “ _Gremlins_? Really, Phil? They’ve probably got a fucking Buffy machine in here, you know.”

 

Phil feels his eyes lighting up at the prospect of playing on a machine dedicated to his all time favourite show, but he squashes the feeling down, knowing that this is how the Casino-owner fat cats get you. He’d never convince himself to go home if he sat down in front of a machine where Buffy Summers was telling him to chase the jackpot.

 

“Nope,” Phil says firmly, slipping the coins into the slot and yanking the lever before he can change his mind, “I’m good with this one.”

 

At first, Phil is confused by the sounds the machine is making. He expects a sad, dwindling 'you tried' melody to trill out, but instead there's a jaunty, celebratory tune, and everything begins to flash. He blinks, uncomprehending, and then feels something pelting his feet. A Gremlin congratulates him in a raspy voice, and several people on neighbouring machines turn to stare.

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dan growls, deadpan, and Martyn laughs in his face.

 

“Congratulations, sir.” The shot girl says, handing Phil another shot. Dan takes one as well, his face resigned as he tosses it down his throat. 

 

Phil follows suit, only vaguely registering Martyn and Cornelia's toast to his success. They all urge him to play again, including the talking Gremlin, so Phil reaches into the overflowing change dispenser and plucks out some more quarters to deposit into the machine. 

 

Over the next few minutes, Phil proceeds to win $550.

 

To say he is astonished at his own sheer luck is an understatement. At first, as expected, Dan is kind of annoyed about Phil's lucky streak, but it fades fast. Given that Phil is all too aware of Dan's extremely competitive nature, he is marvelled by the enthusiasm with which Dan cheers him on. 

 

There is a near constant supportive yelling in his ear the whole time Phil is playing. Dan's hands clutch his shoulders, whooping with joy each time he wins another load. A crowd gathers, drawn in by the excitement of Phil's personal cheerleader no doubt. After a few minutes, Dan steps back to snap photos on his phone, laughing as Phil turns to pose for him.

 

It’s all a bit of a blur of Gremlin noises and shiny silver coins, but soon Phil decides to call it a day, forcing himself to stop before he loses it all. Martyn and Cornelia kneel down to help scoop up all the coins that have spilled over the floor, piling Phil's winnings into big, paper buckets. 

 

“Phil, you fucking genius!” Dan cries out, rushing forwards suddenly in order to push Phil back into the chair.

 

By this point, the crowd surrounding the _Gremlins_ machine is pretty substantial, but this seems to completely bypass Dan’s notice. Phil freezes, unable and unwilling to move as Dan climbs straight into his lap and kisses him on the mouth. It lasts a total of three seconds, if that, but it’s enough to give Phil a heart palpitation and turn his cheeks bright pink.

 

He stares up at Dan, half-horrified, half-besotted. He realises belatedly that he can hear several ‘aww’s' from their audience. 

 

Dan laughs, blushing as well, then clambers off Phil like nothing at all occurred. Like he didn’t just do something stupid and spontaneous that could very well have thrown a spanner in the precarious inner workings of their extremely unstable relationship.

 

One of Dan’s hands has hold of his; his other holds the fucking piñata. Some minutes later, waking from a daze, Phil realises he’s gripping a popcorn bucket of quarters to his chest as he’s led through the glittering casino floor.

 

He casts his eyes about for Martyn and Cornelia, swallowing nervously as he catches sight of them walking some distance behind, silent and pensive. Martyn catches his eye and Phil blushes more deeply, no clue where on earth he's going to begin explaining this time.

 

* * *

 

Phil bets $100 of his winnings on red.

 

He can feel the others silently begging him not to, but he doesn’t care. He feels like a billionaire might in one of these places, ready to splash some cash like it’s peanuts, and to lose it all if the stars don’t align for him.

 

The dealer at the roulette table spins the wheel, throwing the tiny silver ball in with a practiced flair.

 

Phil rocks on the balls of his feet, nervous and excited. He looks down at the sight of his and Dan’s fingers, interlocked so tightly together that it’s almost impossible to tell whose is whose, and grins to himself.

 

He’s feeling pretty lucky tonight.

 

The black and red spaces blur together as the wheel spins on its axis, and Phil’s mind seems to spin with it. His heart is in his throat as the wheel starts to slow, and then he feels the tight, hot grip of Dan’s hand squeezing his.

 

Phil turns to him, meeting two chocolate brown eyes. It doesn’t matter, he realises. He could lose everything he has right now, and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. He squeezes Dan’s hand in return, melting as he watches the smile appear on that pretty, twenty-five year old face.

 

“Number thirty-two,” the croupier announces in the background, though Phil is barely listening anymore. “Red.”

 

* * *

 

To celebrate Phil’s win, they decide to have another drink at the bar. None of them feel particularly sober, so they say they'll order just one more each. Dan tries to argue that limiting themselves in this way is boring, but is easily sated when Phil hands him a raspberry mojito the size of a houseplant.

 

Dan keeps hold of his hand.

 

Martyn and Cornelia must have noticed it, but they don’t say anything for some reason. 

 

Actually, now that Phil thinks about it, he hasn’t heard either of them say much of anything for quite some time now; he’s been heavily engrossed in a conversation with Dan about their multiple fantasy scenarios for the finale of _Game of Thrones_.

 

“…so yeah, basically Daenerys will fly over on a big ole dragon friend and fuck shit up Donkey-from-Shrek-style… aaand then she’ll be Queen.”

 

Phil is only half listening to the end of Dan’s ramble. He turns to his right, swivelling on his bar stool to face his brother sat on the other side of him. To Phil's surprise, he and Cornelia appear to be having their own conversation, entirely separate from his and Dan's.

 

“Guys?” Phil says, and they turn their heads.

 

“Hm?” Cornelia asks, hiccupping. She giggles. “What’s up?”

 

“Why’re you over there?” Phil asks, confused.

 

Martyn and Cornelia exchange a glance. “We’re not over anywhere.” Cornelia says kindly, smiling at them both. “We’re here.”

 

“But you’re not talking to us.” Phil points out, and they laugh.

 

“No offense Phil, but it’s kinda hard to have a conversation with you guys once you’ve drifted off into your own private world.” Cornelia explains, clearly trying hard to keep her voice gentle.

 

Dan splutters with laughter, and Phil glances over at him, perplexed. “We aren’t in our own world! We’re talking about _Game of Thrones_!”

 

“Yeah…” Cornelia agrees, shrugging and nodding. “But you got onto that subject because you were reminiscing about watching the new episode together on the massive screen of your TATINOF set.”

 

“We weren’t there for that.” Martyn points out, sipping his gin and tonic. “In fact, was anyone there apart from you two?”

 

Phil stiffens, not seeing the relevance of Martyn's question.

 

“And before that you were saying that the thing you miss most about home is watching Netflix together on the sofa,” Cornelia continues, and Martyn nods.

 

“Yeah, we definitely can’t join in with that.” Martyn chuckles. “Though I’m sure it’s great.”

 

“And before that you were discussing that one party you guys went to where you escaped everyone else to go eat somewhere just the two of you-” Cornelia says, cut off as Martyn interrupts her.

 

“And before _that_ -”

 

“Okay, okay!” Phil cries, feeling chastened.

 

Christ. He and Dan had only been reminiscing. It's not like they were intentionally dominating the conversation by making it all about them; it just so happens that a great deal of their memories are shared ones. 

 

“It’s no big deal, guys.” Cornelia laughs, shrugging. “We’re used to it. Everyone who knows you guys is well aware that at some point during the night you’re bound to be lost to each other.”

 

Dan and Phil turn to each other wordlessly.

 

They share a silent moment of not knowing what to say in the face of this revelation. Reluctantly, Phil comes to a conclusion in his head that Cornelia and Martyn are probably right; he does tend to look back on the events of a night out to find he’s spent most of it talking exclusively to Dan about some drunken nonsense.

 

Dan suddenly snorts with laughter, and Phil is helpless to join in.

 

“Guess we’re the only interesting ones.” Dan shrugs, downing the rest of his cocktail.

 

“Yeah, according to each other maybe.” Martyn jibes, rolling his eyes with a smile.

 

Dan laughs, then jumps up from his stool, lifting the piñata high above his head like a trophy. “Right! Where to now?”

 

Phil slips an arm around Dan's waist just in time to prevent him toppling to the vibrantly patterned carpet. Even then, Phil’s almost dragged down alongside him; he’s not exactly the picture of sobriety himself.

 

He giggles, pressed against Dan’s shoulder as he tries to right himself. Dan places the llamacorn on his head, the four stiff legs fitting oddly well onto his skull, so it slots onto him like a hat.

 

“Oh my God, Phil, this is the best you've ever looked.” Dan gushes in awe, marvelling at his handiwork.

 

“O-kay," Martyn chuckles, standing up as well. Cornelia tips the remainder of her pink drink into her mouth. “Time to get you boys back to the hotel.”

 

* * *

 

“Phiiiiil,” Dan whines from the bed, still refusing to let go of the damn piñata, despite Phil and Martyn’s best efforts to wrestle it off him. “I’m not ready for bed yet.”

 

Phil walks over to the spot on the floor of Dan's suite where the younger boy has thrown his shirt. “Dan, you’re literally _in_ bed.”

 

He bends down to pick it up, only to find his balance is not at its peak, and thus falls forwards, almost diving into a somersault.

 

Luckily, Martyn catches hold of him just in time. “Woah, easy bro.”

 

Phil is hauled upright, clinging to his brother. He is appalled to find, upon straightening, that the room appears to be spinning around him, much like the roulette wheel he'd doubled his fortune on earlier. He imagines himself as the tiny, helpless silver ball, ricocheting off the spinning numbers as the momentum propels him in an endless, dizzying spiral. 

 

He clings to Martyn a little tighter, swallowing thickly. 

 

“I’m in bed but I’m not tired.” Dan pouts, folding his arms across his bare chest.

 

“Dan Howell, internet sensation,” Cornelia sighs, walking over to pull the covers over Dan's exposed feet, “and actual five year old.”

 

Phil giggles; he can see several Dan's from his position, but Cornelia is right - all of them have a particularly childish look about them at this moment. 

 

“Can’t you just stay here, Phil?” Dan whines, pouting. He thumps the mattress in frustration, as though it will help his argument in some way. 

 

Phil tries to blink away the incredible urge that wells up in his chest to give in to this tempting request; this turns out to be far more difficult than he expects. He sighs, irritated with himself for allowing himself to get this drunk. Nevertheless, hard as it might be to say no to Dan's pretty, tanned, pouty face, Phil still knows that he needs to go back to his own room tonight. It's very important that he sleep alone, and not here, with Dan. For... some reason.  

 

He squints at the thought, trying to remember this reason, which is, at present, not clear to him.  

 

He knows that the reason exists, and that it's very, very important he doesn't give in to the temptation of staying here. He just can't quite recall what it actually is.

 

Damn his moronic, forgetful drunk-brain.  

 

“Martyn?” Phil asks, hoping his brother will be able to shed some light on what the most sensible option is at present.

 

Martyn chuckles, releasing his hold on Phil so fast that the younger Lester staggers on the spot, finding the nearest wall to brace himself.

 

“I’m not getting involved.” Martyn says firmly, raising both hands in surrender. “I’m going to bed. And what's more, in the morning, I'd like to know nothing about what happened after I left the room.”

 

“Me too.” Cornelia sighs, yawning. As she passes Phil on her way to the door, she winks. "Except I wanna know _everything_ in the morning." 

 

Phil giggles at her, but he's not sure why. Nothing's going to happen. There'll be nothing to tell. 

 

“Cram it, Corn." Martyn says in a warning tone. "Night fellas. It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

 

With that, they head for the door, Martyn holding it open for Cornelia to slip out. 

 

“Happy birthday, Dan!” Cornelia cries out over her shoulder as she goes, waving half-heartedly on her way. 

 

Martyn hesitates in the doorway, glancing over at Phil, eyebrows raised. “Um, contrary to popular belief, what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay here, guys. Remember that.”

 

Before anything more can be said, Martyn has gone, and the door is clicking shut behind him. Slowly, Phil turns back to Dan, who is wearing a hungry expression, one that Phil is trying very hard to look past.

 

“So, stay?” Dan prompts happily, patting the space beside him on the bed. “I’ll kick llamacorn out for you.”

 

Phil snorts, unable to suppress his amusement.

 

He dithers, still leant against one swirling wall, trying to remain dignified and not slump to the ground. He knows he should go, obviously. He should just bid Dan goodnight and get the fuck out of here. Dan is too drunk to be able to physically stop him, after all.

 

But damn, that bed looks inviting. And not just because Dan is tucked up inside it, practically naked.

 

And so he can blame it on the champagne, tequila and mojitos tomorrow, Phil tells himself. Half an hour hanging out here isn't going to fuck up the whole of their relationship.

 

So, Phil smiles, a little rueful. “Wow. Well, I guess in the face of such a bold gesture, I have to stay.”

 

Dan positively lights up with glee, placing the piñata down onto the floor beside him, and watching with wide, glinting eyes as Phil makes his way, stumbling quite a bit, around the bed.

 

The mattress makes a ‘whoompf’ noise as Phil flops down onto it, and he closes his eyes as he sinks into its loving embrace. It’s the comfiest he can recall being in quite some time; tour buses are decidedly not fitted with luxury sleeping arrangements. 

 

“Just for a bit though, yeah?” Phil says around a yawn, trying to sound firm. 

 

He wiggles his shoulders against the pillow-topped heaven of this King-Size bed, loathing his own words. He wonders how long it's going to take him to summon enough energy to lift himself off it again and force himself down the hall to his own inferior single. 

  

“Yeah, just for a bit.” Dan echoes, sounding a bit too happy for Phil to believe he's actually on board with this plan. “Take your jacket off though, at least.”

 

Phil can’t think of an argument for why he should keep it on, as he did say he’d stick around for a bit to keep Dan company for the time being. So, he shimmies himself out of it, helped a great deal by Dan himself, and then sits up against the padded headboard.

 

Dan throws the jacket across the room in a similar fashion to the haphazard, uncaring way he tossed his own shirt aside; Phil tries not to overthink this gesture. He’ll find the jacket in a minute. When he leaves for his own room.

 

“Had a good birthday?” Phil asks tiredly, smiling at Dan.

 

“Such a good birthday,” Dan sighs, his smile fading a little. “And now it’s over for another year.”

 

Phil tuts, shaking his head. “You don’t do birthdays right. They should last at least a week.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, if you’re King Lester, making everyone worship you for days on end.”

 

“I’m a good and gracious leader to my people.” Phil says, laughing. “I provide cake, sustenance and party games to all those who join me in celebration.”

 

Dan snorts, but nods, agreeing. “I guess that’s true.” He sighs, finding Phil’s hand again somewhere in the crevices of the duvet. “I’d worship you every day if I could, Your Highness.”

 

Unsure whether they’re still talking about birthdays, or Kings, or whatever, Phil decides a hasty subject change is in order. He considers untangling his hand from Dan’s grasp, but it’s still technically Dan’s birthday, and as they’re not going to be… doing anything else, he supposes he can let Dan have this one small thing.

 

“Miss you,” Dan yawns, his eyes falling shut.

 

Phil frowns, confused by his words. “Miss me? I’m right here.”

 

“Mmm, you are but you aren’t.” Dan says enigmatically, half into his pillow. “Not like you were. Not like it used to be.”

 

Phil isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s actually a little annoyed by it. Is Dan saying he misses the Phil that used to fall over his own face to kiss Dan’s feet? Is he implying that he preferred the miserable, beaten down version of his best friend that he kept on a leash for six years?

 

“Maybe it’s a good thing.” Phil says, his voice coming out harsher than he means it.

 

Dan’s eyes flicker open, surprised at the tone. “I just mean that, apart from tonight, you don’t really talk to me anymore.” There’s a sadness in Dan’s voice that melts the anger right out of Phil’s veins. “We used to talk about everything. I used to always know how you felt and what you were up to. All your projects and crazy ideas. Now you don’t tell me anything. I have no idea what’s happening in Phil-world anymore.” Dan ponders his choice of words, appearing to ruminate on them. “I miss it there.”

 

“Phil-world?” Phil asks, a small smile playing on his mouth. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

 

Dan chuckles fondly. “Mmm, mine too.”

 

His eyes have fallen shut again, and Phil fights an urge to reach over and brush his hair back from his forehead. He’s such a pretty sleeper. In the day, his face can become taught with worry or irritation. But in sleep, Dan's features smooth out like a child’s, pure and baby-fresh, his skin unblemished, his mouth slightly turned up at the corners in a contented, peaceful smile.

 

“I guess I don’t really know how anymore.” Phil admits at last. Then, because that was a difficult thing to say, he allows himself to reach up and sweep Dan’s hair back like he wants. Dan leans into the touch, sucking in a surprised breath; his eyes flutter open. “Our... relationship is so different now. It’ll take me a while before I can get used to it enough to… confide again, I suppose.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be different.” Dan says cautiously, and Phil swallows.

 

“I’m not ready for that, Dan.”

 

Dan looks away, nodding. There’s a touch of disappointment on his face, but mostly it’s just resignation, like he'd already predicted exactly what Phil would say.

 

“I know,” Dan sighs, confirming Phil’s suspicions. “Sorry. I don’t mean to keep pushing it. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

 

Phil fidgets, not sure how to express himself, yet again. He cards his fingers through Dan’s hair, trying to find the words in the hazy mess of his drunk-brain.

 

“I’m not uncomfortable with the notion of being with you.” Phil says carefully, wanting to make sure he doesn’t give Dan any false hope here. “I spent years wanting it. I still do, in a way.” Dan’s head whips around to face him so fast that Phil’s fingers slip out of his hair. “It’s just…”

 

He trails off, wishing there was an easy way to explain that Dan hurt him so badly that he can’t see himself ever being able to trust him romantically again. It’s such shitty timing, all of this. Why can’t they ever have just wanted each other in the same way at the same time?

 

They had one year, more or less, of harmony. Everything since has just been a vast, unending mess. 

 

“Yeah.” Dan acknowledges, nodding like he knows what Phil means, despite the lack of words he's used to articulate it. “I keep wishing for it though, because my body doesn’t listen to my brain.”

 

“Same.” Phil says too quickly, then wishes he could take it back. They’re heading into dangerous territory here.

 

“Just like… when I see you on nights like tonight,” Dan says, agonised, “and you’re all champagne-drunk and gorgeous, and you're treating me like a Prince, and even though you know it's a fucking terrible idea you don't let go of my hand...."

 

Phil’s heart picks up speed; he knows he needs to shut this conversation down, pronto, but he can’t help wanting to know what Dan is going to say.

 

“My whole body just…” Dan bites his lip, glancing up at Phil. “Wants you.”

 

Phil reddens, and he stares fixedly at a spot on the far wall, trying not to dwell on Dan’s words.

 

He clears his throat, and then again. A thousand responses swim around in his brain, like a school of fish, all wriggling and shimmery, begging to be plucked out of the water and spoken aloud.

 

None of them are appropriate.

 

So, in a hasty decision, Phil shimmies to the edge of the bed, removing his hand from Dan’s hair, and stands up, clumsily. “I’m gonna get us some water.” He announces, stumbling towards the bathroom. Before he enters, he pauses in the doorway, glancing back at Dan. He's wearing a miserable expression; an abandoned puppy swathed in soft, white sheets.

 

Oh, fuck it, Phil thinks. It’s his birthday, he deserves to hear something nice.

 

“I'll always want you, Dan.” He says softly, then pushes himself through the bathroom door before he says something far worse.

 

* * *

 

Dan is nineteen, and so is Phil.

 

It’s so odd, raking his slim, freckled fingers through Dan’s long hair. It’s such a peculiar sensation to have a young Dan laid atop his slender, bony teen body.

 

It’s strange, but it’s electrifying.

 

Dan is grinning, his dimple a tiny cavern in the deep tan of his face. He is naked, and his lithe, skinny body glimmers in the light. Phil can feel his heart pumping the blood round his skinny frame. He is so hard that it hurts, and he can’t think about anything except Dan touching him.

 

“Do you want me?” Dan asks, his voice almost a giggle.

 

Phil nods, unable to speak. He clutches Dan’s tapered waist, running his fingers over the troughs and bumps of his ribs. Everything is so hot; Phil feels like they’re on top of a furnace. He lifts Dan as easily as if he were filled with helium, then places him on his back, and crawls on top of him.

 

Their movements are practiced and graceful, as though they are engaged in a dance. Dan’s hands are in his hair, on his shoulders, slipping down his back. Dan’s tongue is in his mouth, and it’s tracing patterns on his hip. It’s flicking against his cock; Phil moans loudly, somehow on his back now.

 

“Dan,” he pants, pushing his hips upwards in search of more, urging Dan to use more of that pretty pink mouth. “Dan, yes…”

 

Their eyes meet across the length of Phil’s pale, bony body. Phil feels a wash of insecurity, looking down at his concave stomach, at the lack of muscle, his underdeveloped, scrawny torso.

 

He’s utterly smooth on his chest, with barely a wisp of chest hair.

 

Maybe he’s younger than nineteen.

 

Dan swallows around him, and he forgets his urge to shield his body from sight.

 

“Dan, unngh,” Phil groans, reaching towards him.

 

Somehow Dan is beside him now, and he slips a hand around Phil’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. He tastes like dust and old memories. He smells like Phil’s mum’s fabric softener, and the body spray Martyn would liberally apply in the bathroom every morning before school.

 

Phil can’t seem to kiss him deep enough, and Dan laughs as Phil tries. He wriggles in Phil’s grasp, escaping his clutches and rolling just out of reach.

 

Phil is still achingly hard, practically delirious with want; he crawls across the enormous, rumpled sheets in search of the mischievous, sly version of his boyfriend.

 

“Dan, come back,” Phil hisses, “let me touch you.”

 

“Catch me,” Dan entices, back on top of him again.

 

Phil wraps his hands around Dan’s waist, but he’s weak, the lack of muscle in his arms means he can’t hang on as Dan breaks free.

 

“Want you, Phil.” Dan tells him with a smirk, even as he’s inching away. “Come touch me.”

 

“I’m trying.” Phil grits out, reaching for him.

 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Dan asks, trailing a hand down his own chest.

 

Phil stares at him, stilling for a moment. The question is absurd. “Of course.” He whispers. “You’re beautiful.”

 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Dan asks, tilting his head to the side, birdlike.

 

Phil sits up, feeling drunk and bewildered by his own heady, intense lust.

 

“More than anything.” Phil moans, desperate for him, though he’s inches away. “Will you let me?”

 

Dan giggles coquettishly, but he doesn’t answer. He sits back on his heels, grinning again. “He told me you don’t love me anymore.”

 

Phil blanches, trying to process what on earth Dan is saying. “Who did?”

 

Dan points to a spot behind Phil, pouting. “Him.”

 

Phil turns, furious, wanting to see who could have told Dan such a preposterous lie. There, sound asleep in the bed beside him, is Dan. But an older Dan; the version Phil knows exists in the present. He blinks, trying to understand how this Dan and the one he’s been speaking with could exist at once.

 

He turns back, expecting the nineteen year old version of him to still be sat there, but he’s gone. Phil looks down at his own body, and he gasps; he’s back to how he remembers himself – chest hair and all.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks tentatively, reaching for the older, sleeping boy.

 

He hears a cough, loud and insistent, and it makes him jump. The sleeping Dan doesn’t stir.

 

“What was-” Phil tries to say, but the words don’t slip off his tongue.

 

Another cough sounds, and Phil’s eyes snap open. He sees darkness, feels the soft sweep of artificially cooled air on his face and arms. There’s something holding his hand.

 

Half of his mind is still in that dream; images of young, naked Dan swim past his eyes, and he flushes at them, wondering at his own brain.

 

There’s another cough, and Phil freezes.

 

“Are you, um,” a voice says, sounding very familiar, “are you awake?”

 

Dan is uncomfortable, and Phil dreads to think why.

 

He realises belatedly that he must eventually have fallen asleep in Dan’s room after all, despite his resolution to do anything but that. He rolls his eyes at himself in the dark.

 

“Yeah,” Phil replies eventually, his voice a rasp.

 

Despite the air conditioning Phil can feel and hear blasting out, he’s incredibly hot right now. His entire body is scorching, reminding him of feverish times back at the start of the tour, tossing and turning in the sweltering heat of the duvet.

 

He sits up a little, knowing he went to get water at some point before falling asleep, which must still be around. He finds his glass on the bedside table and drinks all of it, then sinks back into the pillows, feeling marginally better.

 

It’s at this moment he realises that not all of his dream has left him. There’s a stinging, heavy throb between his legs, reminding him of the nature of his strange dream just now. It hadn’t exactly been innocent, and his body seems to have noticed that.

 

“Sorry if I woke you up.” Dan says, making Phil jump a little. He hasn’t said anything for a while. “I… didn’t really know what else to do.”

 

Phil frowns in confusion, then reaches over to switch on the bedside light.

 

His eyes screech at him for flooding them with light, and the sore, itchy feeling is a lovely reminder that he’s forgotten to remove his contact lenses yet again.

 

He does it now, placing the little discs on the bedside without looking. “What do you mean?”

 

Dan swallows, and Phil turns to him.

 

He’s staring up at the ceiling, one hand in Phil's still, the other placed over the covers on his chest. His eyes are wide and traumatised. Phil feels a flooding concern wash over him.

 

“I think…” Dan says cautiously. “That you were having a bad dream. Possibly.”

 

Immediately, Phil’s cheeks burn. Oh, shit.

 

“Why do you think that?” He asks Dan, heart thumping.

 

Dan glances over at him, the blush creeping onto his face. “You were… talking.” There’s a pause. “And moving.”

 

Phil wants to put his head in his hands, but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes, berating his drunken, horny unconscious brain for creating such an absurdly awkward situation.

 

“Oh,” Is all he can think of to say. “Sorry if it… disturbed you.”

 

“It’s ok.” Dan says, swallowing again. “Was it? A bad dream?”

 

Phil side-eyes him, suspecting that he knows very well that it wasn’t. “I don’t really remember.”

 

Dan meets his eyes, this blatant lie acknowledged in the air between them.

 

“I should go back to my room, anyway.” Phil says, though he doesn’t move an inch. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

 

Dan doesn’t reply for a good minute.

 

Then, he turns over, facing Phil with an unreadable expression. “You said my name.”

 

Phil sighs at him. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” Dan says too quickly, biting his lip. “I hope I was… a nice part. Of the dream.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes, smirking. “Okay, stop playing dumb, Dan.”

 

Dan chuckles, averting his eyes. Phil joins in for a moment, and then they fall silent, the atmosphere less tense now that they’ve stopped pretending they have no idea what’s going on.

 

Phil thinks that Dan might actually let the matter drop there, but of course he’s still tipsy, and full of left over birthday mischief.

 

“Was I good?” Dan asks cheekily, turning to peer up at Phil through his lashes.

 

Phil gapes at him, then rolls his eyes. “I’m not answering that.”

 

“I bet you would’ve answered for dream-Dan.” Dan quips, and Phil swats at him.

 

His mind plunges itself back into the dream without his permission, summoning the image of young Dan, in all his naked glory. He remembers those lips wrapped around him, the jut of his pout as he’d asked Phil to tell him he’s pretty.

 

Phil shivers, his cock twitching beneath the covers.

 

He remembers the latter half of the dream, then. The other Dan, the one that looked so similar to the one beside him now.

 

“There were two of you,” Phil finds himself saying, and of course immediately regrets it.

 

Dan’s mouth falls open, and his eyes light up with amusement. “Fucking hell, that’s a bit kinky.”

 

Again, Phil swats at him. “Not like _that_ \- oh, shut up.”

 

“Wow,” Dan chuckles, burying his face into the pillow for a moment. When he re-emerges, he’s pretty red. “One of me not enough for you, Phil? Thought you sounded like you were having a hell of a time. Christ, you must _really_ be missing me.”

 

Phil just glares at him, though he can’t help laughing too. “I conjured up a second Dan so I could murder him for being so annoying without consequence.”

 

“While the other me sucked you off, yeah?”

 

Phil really wishes he could be more in control of his blushes, as they seem to be becoming maddeningly frequent, particularly around Dan.

 

“Irrelevant.” Phil mumbles, folding his arms across his chest.

 

He wishes he could get out of bed to get more water, but he cannot let Dan witness his… situation below the waist.

 

“Huh.” Dan says, contemplative. “Interesting.”

 

Phil tries to resist the urge to find out what the fuck Dan is talking about, as he knows that the guy is begging to be asked, but he gives in, inevitably.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, I would’ve thought that if you had a sex dream about me,” Dan starts to say, and Phil wants to curl up from the embarrassment, “it’d be y’know, me underneath you, all breathless and wanton.”

 

Phil’s mouth falls open as he stares at Dan, barely able to believe his own ears. Dan just snorts with laughter at his expression, obviously still tipsy enough for this kind of conversation not to embarrass him.

 

“That’s what you like.” Dan winks, grinning at him. “Can’t fool me, I know what gets you off.”

 

To Phil’s horror, Dan then begins making little whimpering noises, biting his lip, eyelids fluttering.

 

“Unngh, fuck, Ph-Phil…”

 

Phil feels his crotch lighting on fire, and he resists the urge to jump on Dan, barely. He can’t deal with this kind of torment, and basically he should’ve gone back to his own room _hours_ ago but he didn’t and he probably won’t and-

 

“See?” Dan says proudly, still smirking. “That’s your thing. Having me all stuttering and helpless while you fuck me into the mattress.”

 

He licks his lips, eyes raking over Phil’s chest. Phil is still fully clothed, but he still feels like he wants to cover himself from Dan’s x-ray stare.

 

He doesn’t know what on earth he’s supposed to say, but somehow the thing that slips out is far worse than he expected.

 

“Can you blame me?”

 

Dan’s eyes bulge. His cheeks heat up. “N-no.” Dan says in a breath. “It’s fucking hot.”

 

They stare at one another for a moment, a thousand unspoken desires in the silence and space between them.

 

“What was your point again?” Phil asks weakly.

 

“Well… that’s not what your dream was about just now.” Dan assesses, and Phil glances away. “You just said. It was about me… doing other things. Right?”

 

Phil doesn’t say yes or no, but his silence speaks volumes.

 

“Possibly two of me.” Dan jokes, and Phil rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m not in control of my subconscious.” Phil says, and Dan nods, thinking about this.

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Are you in control of yours?” Phil can’t stop himself asking.

 

Dan’s eyes widen in surprise, and he blushes again. “You mean… do I get to choose the kind of sex dreams I have about you?”

 

Again, Phil stays quiet, but he begs Dan to answer, if only for the sake of his own obsession over the way Dan perceives him.

 

“Sometimes.” Dan whispers. “Most of the time I dream of your mouth.”

 

“Most of the time,” Phil echoes, his voice faint with awe.

 

“Most nights, yeah.” Dan confirms. He smirks then, looking down. “I’m just not as verbal as you are.”

 

Phil turns his face into the pillow, groaning. “Stop.”

 

Two fingers push a strand of hair over Phil’s ear, gentle and sweet. “Hey, it’s okay. I mean it was super hot. It’s not like I _mind_ it.”

 

Phil peeks out at Dan, face half in the pillow still. “S’just embarrassing.”

 

Dan giggles, shrugging. “I mean, don’t you think it was kind of inevitable? We were drunk… we’d kissed and held hands… we’re sharing a bed…” He pauses. “…And it’s my birthday.”

 

“I guess.” Phil flushes again, remembering Dan’s face as he’d switched on the light. “Tell me the truth, how bad was it?”

 

Dan smirks, pursing his lips to keep from laughing. “Um, not gonna lie – pretty bad.” He chuckles a little, glancing at Phil. “As much as I enjoyed the sensation of you grinding against me, it felt a little weird to allow it to continue while you were unconscious, so I moved away.”

 

“Oh my God.” Phil says, horrified. “That’s so much worse than I thought.”

 

“Hey, I get it.” Dan shrugs, laughing. “I mean, the memories of your blowjobs are, like, my number one wanking fantasy. I get _really_ into it.”

 

Phil blinks at Dan, shocked by this admission. “Wait, really?”

 

“Fuck yes.” Dan sighs, rolling onto his back. “You’re so, so fucking good at that, Phil.” Dan groans at the memory, his back arching off the bed, which makes Phil blush so hard he thinks he might pass out from it. “God, I really miss it.”

 

“Yeah?” Phil can’t help asking, even as his mouth goes dry.

 

Dan turns his head towards Phil, obviously surprised. “Are you kidding me? You can _deep throat_ me, Phil. Like, that is phenomenal. When you pin my hips down and just take it all in…” Dan hisses through his teeth, his hips twitching as though it’s happening right then. “God, it’s so fucking good, Phil. You’re amazing.”

 

He groans again, eyes fluttering shut, and Phil has to physically move himself, extricating his hand from Dan's grip in order to stop himself leaping on top of him.

 

“Yes, I miss it.” Dan sighs, his voice filled with despair. “So much.”

 

Phil is burning up; he feels like he’s going to die any moment from how much he wants to sink into Dan right now, to feel his warm, lithe body under his fingertips again. To prompt those moans and soft whimpering noises from him for real.

 

It’s been a long time, he realises, trying to remember. He counts the weeks it must have been since he and Dan last did something sexual, properly. More than a year ago, at least.

 

A year and a half actually. A long time. 

 

This is the longest Phil has ever resisted Dan, and he feels dangerously close to breaking that streak right now.

 

Eventually, Phil lets out a shaky laugh, not really sure how else to respond.

 

Dan snorts at the bizarre reaction, then yawns. “Oh, well. My fault I lost out on it, I guess.”

 

His eyes close, and Phil just observes him, wondering if he’s seriously able to just fall asleep right now. Phil has never felt less tired in his life all of a sudden. He’s a taut, wound coil of desire and yearning, aching for the boy beside him in this fucking King Size bed he should have left hours ago.

 

“You know,” Dan says in what sounds like a forced attempt at nonchalance; his eyes are still closed, “if I had one birthday wish…”

 

The burst of laughter that escapes from Phil’s lips is louder than the entirety of the conversation they’ve had so far. He might be so horny that he feels like he might evaporate, but that does not mean he has lost all his sense.

 

Their Birthday Sex thing, whatever it was, is over. There’s no way of getting around that, in Phil’s mind.

 

“Good night, Dan.”

 

Dan laughs as well, shrugging. “Worth a shot. Night, Phil.”

 

Despite their farewells, neither of them fall asleep for quite some time.

 

* * *

 

The minute Phil wakes up he knows he’s screwed, because all he can think about is what Dan had told him the night before.

 

_Most of the time I dream of your mouth._

 

The moans Dan had made as he’d remembered Phil’s mouth on him were enough to keep Phil restless, on the verge of sleep for the whole night. Now, he’s wide awake, staring up at the chandelier on the ceiling of Dan’s room because he never actually did make it back to his own. He hates admitting Dan was right, but he really did waste his money booking two rooms for them.

 

 _If I had one wish_ …

 

That’s what Dan had said. One wish, for the thing he’s been fantasising about ever since the last time he received it. Cautiously, Phil lets himself consider it, chewing his lip.

 

It wouldn’t have to _mean_ anything.

 

It could just be a nice gift to Dan, born of nothing but Phil’s appreciation for him as a person.

 

Makes total sense.

 

And it would have absolutely nothing to do with Dan’s birthday. Phil has successfully waited it out. It’s now June 12th, the night of their Vegas show. Dan’s birthday is firmly out of the way.

 

He sighs, rolling his eyes at his own absurd reasoning. He will absolutely not allow himself to give in to this bizarre desire. It would end catastrophically, without a doubt.

 

Just then, Dan’s eyes flutter, and he shuffles about, moving his limbs beneath the covers.

 

“Ugh,” Dan says, “too hot.”

 

Phil can't help the smile that creeps onto his face upon hearing Dan's grumpy, sleep-caked little voice.

 

“Good morning.” Phil says to him. 

 

Dan’s eyes peel all the way open then, looking up at Phil beside him, eyes raking over his bare chest. (It had gotten very hot in the night, okay?)

 

“Phil?” He asks, sounding bewildered. “You’re here.”

 

“Perceptive.” Phil comments, still smiling at him.

 

He’s grumpy and frowny, probably hungover as hell, but somehow he still looks adorable. One side of his face is covered in angry red lines: the creases of the sheets he has been laid on, unmoving, for around ten hours.

 

“I thought you said you had your own room.” Dan croaks, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening.

 

Phil isn’t sure how to explain that he apparently has no willpower whatsoever in the face of Dan’s begging, so he flounders for a response.

 

“Oh, God,” Dan says suddenly, his face draining of colour, “we didn’t… _do_ anything last night, did we?”

 

Taken aback, Phil splutters a little. “No.” His answer comes out a little defensive, for some reason. Dan visibly melts in relief, sinking into his pillow, eyes shut. Phil frowns, disliking this reaction. “Nice to know you’re thrilled about the idea.”

 

Immediately, Dan’s eyes fly open, and he sits up, wide eyed. “No, that’s not what I-” He cuts himself off, sighing in frustration. “Obviously, if we did do anything, it would’ve been fucking incredible.”

 

“Obviously.” Phil mutters, annoyance simmering just under his skin for a reason he doesn't understand.

 

“It’s just, I'd wanna, y'know... remember it.” Dan says sheepishly. He hesitates, forehead creasing again. “And um, I don’t remember much about last night past the, um… cake.” He sighs, clearly annoyed at himself. “Fuck’s sake, why do I always do this?” He asks the ceiling, which doesn’t respond. “I’ve been trying not to get so wasted when I drink, to know my limits, and then I go and get blackout drunk yet _again_ on the night I really, really shouldn’t-”

 

“You’ve been trying to drink less?” Phil asks, curious about this confession.

 

Dan glances at him, shrugging in embarrassment. “I nearly fucking died from downing a bottle of vodka.” He mumbles, playing with the sheet. “I think a self-imposed intervention was necessary.”

 

Now that Phil thinks about it, he hasn’t seen Dan drunk in a very long time. Not since he checked him out of hospital, definitely. Even at their TATINOF party celebrating the end of their UK tour, Dan had only had one of each of their themed cocktails – one ‘Dan’, and one ‘Phil’.

 

And he hasn’t had many drinks in the whole time they’ve been touring the US. He thinks back to the Creator’s Summit in New York, recalling how Dan had been entirely sober when they’d left to go back to the hotel.

 

“Huh.” Phil says, kind of impressed. “That’s good.”

 

Dan snorts. “Yeah, well don’t congratulate me. I fell off the wagon pretty hard last night, if this epic hangover is any judge.”

 

Dan massages his temples with his index fingers, his eyes falling shut. Phil can’t help but smile at him.

 

“It was your birthday.” Phil shrugs in sympathy.

 

Dan opens his eyes just to roll them at Phil. “I thought we stopped using that as an excuse for our moronic behaviour.” Phil can’t help but laugh, even though it’s a touchy subject. Dan grimaces. “Ugh, just tell me… was I a total nightmare?”

 

“Last night?”

 

Dan nods, looking somewhat afraid of the answer. “Break it to me gently.”

 

Phil laughs, his tongue poking out between his teeth. “You weren’t that bad. Very loud. Demanding. But that’s not unusual.” Dan pokes him in the side, but smiles. “And, um, very flirty.”

 

The smile slips off Dan’s face. “Oh no. What did I do to you?”

 

Phil chuckles. “How do you know it was me you flirted with?”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Dan says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe I was making drunken passes at one of the _other_ tall, beautiful guys I’ve been in love with since I was seventeen.”

 

Phil tries to hide the way his lungs seize up, but he feels his face redden from the lack of oxygen getting to his brain. Never, not in a million years, will he get used to hearing Dan say things like that.

 

“You asked me for a BJ.” Phil blurts, not sure where it came from.

 

Dan gawps, then slides down the mattress and pulls the covers up over his head. “The _shame_.”

 

Phil laughs at him, patting the space of duvet where Dan’s head is. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

 

Dan pulls the edge of the covers down enough to peer out, his eyes wide and horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Again, Phil laughs, then trails off, his eyes glazing as his mind slips back to how tempting the request had been. “It’s okay.” He croaks quietly, hand still resting on the patch of covers. “You were very complimentary of my skill.”

 

Flowers of scarlet bloom on Dan’s cheeks, and Phil watches them unfurl, entranced. His hand reaches up to trace the colour, hypnotised by it.

 

“It is a particular favourite fantasy of mine.” Dan whispers, muffled by the covers.

 

“Mmm, you mentioned.” Phil replies, amused. His voice has dropped an octave without his permission.

 

Something about Dan’s wide-eyed, vulnerable face, half hidden beneath the covers, makes Phil want to move closer to him. So he does.

 

He lays his head next to Dan’s on the pillow; Dan lets out a small squeak.

 

“Are you mad at me?” He asks breathily, and Phil shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says.

 

Then, to prove it, he leans forwards and presses his mouth to Dan’s, relishing the squeak of surprise this elicits from him. Dan doesn’t seem to know how to react, so his lips are still and pliant as Phil pushes his against them.

 

Tentatively, a hand comes up to brace the back of Phil’s head.

 

Oh, and Phil had forgotten this. The versions of Dan that writhe about in Phil’s filthier dreams do not begin to compare to the real thing. Tasting him feels like gulping down fresh, clean air after being submerged under the sea. He is so warm, so delicious, so willing as Phil rolls on top of him.

 

He gasps in surprise as Phil trails kisses down his throat, hands clutching the air, toes curling in the sheets.

 

This is fine, Phil tells himself. This is okay. Dan asked for this, and Phil is just giving him this one thing. The contours of Dan’s body are valleys Phil has trekked through so many times, but he hasn’t traced their dips and paths for so long. It’s intoxicating, slipping back into this, and as he drags the sheets off Dan’s body, he lets out a groan of appreciation.

 

No sight, no landmark or viewpoint that he and Dan have seen on this epic road trip that has been their lives for months will ever compare to the one Phil is looking at right now. He pulls Dan’s boxers off with an air of impatience, half hearing Dan calling his name.

 

“Phil, Phil, are you sure-”

 

He’s so hard, his cock flushed an angry shade of pink as Phil takes hold of it. There is moisture leaking out of the tip, and Phil dives straight in to lick it up, salt and copper bursting over his tongue. He moans again, wishing he could taste Dan forever just this way, and Dan’s hips twitch.

 

“Phil, oh God, oh fuck,” Dan babbles, reaching one hand to push Phil’s hair away from his face. “You don’t have to do this, Phil- oh, _Christ-_ ”

 

Phil has no time to listen to Dan’s reasoning. This is probably a terrible idea, but there is no point in trying to resist this urge any longer. Dan is too gorgeous, too bed-ruffled and sleepy and he fucking _asked_ Phil to do this for him last night-

 

It occurs to Phil that he’d better make this really, really good, as he has no idea when or if it could happen again. In this vein of thought, Phil slips his mouth over Dan’s cock, letting himself sink down slowly, until he feels it nudging at the back of his throat.

 

He wants Dan to buck forwards, to slide all the way into him, but Dan is too cautious, and he probably wouldn’t do it even if Phil asked. Instead, Phil grips the base of him, then slides down further, until his lips meet the circle of his thumb and forefinger.

 

He can go deeper, he knows, but it’s been a while, so he doesn’t do it right away. Besides, he wants to make this last, to tear Dan apart strip by strip, to devour him one morsel at a time.

 

“Phil, holy fuck, oh-” Dan is saying somewhere above him, his hands gripping Phil’s hair, his legs bent at the knee as he tangles his toes in the covers.

 

The bristles of Dan’s pubic hair brush against Phil’s nose, and Phil sucks, hard enough to make Dan cry out, before pulling off him all the way. He releases his grip on Dan’s length, licking the taste of him off his palm before diving back in.

 

He flattens his tongue along the underside of Dan’s cock, licking up in broad stripes, then trailing his lower teeth along the pulsing blue vein snaking up the left side.

 

“Ah! Fuck.” Dan cries out, tormented. He’s gripping a clump of Phil’s hair so hard that it hurts a little, but Phil doesn’t mind it. He’d let Dan rip the hair right out of his follicles if it meant he was enjoying himself. “Oh, God, Phil, you’re fucking amazing.”

 

Phil smirks a little at the praise, but tries not to let it get to his head, as he wants to make this mind-blowing. He wants to leave Dan utterly wrung out, destroyed by the intensity of the best fucking blowjob he’s ever had, and that’s not going to happen if he sinks into a rhythm.

 

Holding the base of Dan’s cock again, Phil pumps him in firm, gentle strokes before slowly reaching the tip of his tongue out to swirl around the head. The precome is pouring out of him now, and Phil can feel the blood pumping through Dan's length as he slips him into his mouth again. The weight of him is heavy and thick on Phil’s tongue, so he angles his head expertly, finding that cavern of knowledge about how to do this deep within his brain as he pushes himself down, spearing his face onto Dan.

 

It’s glorious, the sensation of Dan pushing into his throat. He closes his eyes, breathing through his nostrils as he suppresses the instinct to gag.

 

“ _Phil_ ,” Dan sobs above him, sounding wrecked. Phil wants to smile in satisfaction at the sound, but his lips are otherwise occupied. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

 

Dan’s hips stutter forwards, pushing himself further into Phil’s throat, and Phil can’t help moaning at the feel of it. He starts to move, slowly at first, getting used to the sensation of Dan slipping in and out of him, his throat contracting with each bob of his head.

 

Dan’s words have slurred into vague, unintelligible sounds of ecstasy. He whines and shouts alternately, spitting curse words and hanging on to the chunk of Phil’s hair with all his might.

 

There won’t be long until he’s finished, Phil knows, as he’s getting to that stage of incoherency. Phil speeds up in his movements, reaching up to rake his nails down Dan’s waist, then down to clutch at the tensed globes of his ass.

 

He pulls Dan towards him with each movement of his head, urging him further in, fingers digging into his buttocks so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he left bruises.

 

Dan comes with a scream. That’s the only way Phil could describe the noise he makes. He shrieks with it, practically rattling the chandelier above them, and he jack-knifes forwards, curling inwards on himself as Phil hungrily swallows down his release.

 

He doesn’t pull off until he’s gathered every last drop on his tongue, until Dan is shaking with the aftershocks, falling back against the mattress with a whimper.

 

Phil sits up, trying to be discreet as he wipes the drips of come from his lips, but Dan’s eyes are hawk-like, trained on him, unblinking. He reaches for Phil with one trembling hand.

 

Phil smiles, taking it as he allows himself to be pulled down beside Dan. They lie facing one another, sharing one pillow. Dan wears a look of such astonishment that Phil kind of wants to take a picture, so he can giggle at it later.

 

Right now, he doesn’t feel much like laughing.

 

That had been… beyond words. Phil knew he missed doing things of a sexual nature with Dan, but he hadn’t expected the wild, animalistic urge that had overtaken him as soon as he gave in to his desire. To make it worse, Phil can feel that it's still there, lurking beneath his skin, already hungry for more.

 

It’s probably too much to hope for that Dan is completely fine with this happening, but Phil can dream. Their hands are still linked, so Phil can feel how much Dan is shaking, still.

 

“Are you cold?” Phil asks in a whisper. He reaches for the blanket, but Dan stops him with a squeeze of his hand.

 

“No.” He says, still a stunned fox, cornered by a ravenous beagle. “Phil, I…”

 

Phil sucks in a breath, preparing to be told off. Or maybe to be asked what the fuck that had been about, and if it had meant anything. None of these are questions Phil has any sort of satisfactory answer for.

 

“Thank you,” Dan says, blinking and shrugging. “I don’t know what else to say.”

 

Phil smiles at him, then leans in, pecking him on the lips. “You’re welcome.”

 

Dan chuckles in disbelief. His expression is the definition of ‘shellshocked’, and Phil has never seen anything so beautiful.

 

“Do you…” Dan starts to say, then bites his lip. “Do you want me to, um-”

 

Phil’s eyes widen, cottoning on to what Dan is referring to. “Oh! No.” He shakes his head with a giggle. “Don’t worry about that.”

 

“Well,” Dan says, blushing, “I really wouldn’t mind…” He swallows, not meeting Phil’s eye. “Like, I _really_ wouldn’t mind.”

 

Phil smiles, blushing faintly as well, but is determined to stay firm. “I think it would only complicate things.” He says, though he’s perfectly aware how little sense that makes. He notes Dan’s frown of confusion, and decides that he needs to leave this situation pronto, before it gets any messier. “I’m gonna go have a shower.”

 

Phil sits up abruptly, his hand slipping out of Dan’s; he doesn’t allow himself to look back at the younger boy, because he knows if he sees disappointment or hurt on that beautiful face, he will be powerless in the face of it, as ever.

 

He gave Dan what he wanted, what he asked for.

 

He did it because he’s a nice, generous person, and it doesn’t do any harm. Sure, he might have enjoyed it a little too much, but nobody needs to know about that.

 

This was a meaningless, non-birthday-related bit of oral sex from one friend to another. This is fine, Phil tells himself again as he stands up from the bed. He walks quickly to the bathroom, trying not to focus on the fact that Dan hasn’t said a word in response.

 

This is all fine.

 

* * *

 

 

After this one, hangover-induced, almost laughably foolish episode, the dam in Phil’s brain starts to splinter and break. The dam had been erected months ago, though it had taken some time to build it. The construction of it began as soon as Phil found Dan on that night with Kevin and the broken glass and the blood.

 

It was about halfway finished by the time Phil told Dan that their Birthday Sex pact was over, and it finally reached completion when Phil wheeled Dan out of hospital.

 

The dam is there to keep Phil sane. It blocks the river of his most detrimental thoughts – the ones that cause him the most pain and suffering. As one might suspect, all of these thoughts relate to Dan.

 

_I love Dan, and he doesn’t feel the same._

Blocked.

 

_I want Dan sexually, but he is indifferent about me._

Blocked.

 

_I will never be free of my feelings for Dan, and he knows it._

Blocked.

 

A thousand and one thoughts like these used to plague Phil daily. The dam in his mind has done a wonderful job of keeping them at bay. Thanks to the sturdy, unyielding structure Phil has built for himself internally, only a trickle of the stream can find its way through.

 

Sure, the occasional sad, longing thought will escape, but mostly Phil is able to enjoy day to day life freely, without the overwhelming sadness that used to bring him down. In fact, recently, he’s been able to avoid thinking anything much about Dan at all. Thanks to the dam.

 

But with one, silly act, probably helped by the leftover vodka in Phil’s bloodstream, the dam is bursting, and Phil can feel it.

 

More thoughts are pushing their way through its cracks every day, attacking Phil when he least expects it, forcing him to dwell on the nature of his and Dan’s relationship.

 

It’s extremely inconvenient, as they’re obviously still on tour, and Dan isn’t exactly acting normally towards him considering Phil just ran away from him after… well. No need to think about the specifics of what happened, Phil tells himself, blushing. That will only dismantle the dam more quickly.

 

“Switch with me, Phil.” Dan says, knocking Phil out of his pondering.

 

He blinks at Dan, who is standing up from his chair in front of the dressing table mirror, pulling the paper out from the neck of his t-shirt.

 

“Hm?” Phil asks, and Dan meets his eyes.

 

His face is tinged with sadness, and Phil wishes he didn’t know why.

 

“It’s your turn,” Dan says, raising his eyebrows, “for makeup.”

 

It’s then that Phil remembers where he is, and what’s happening. He turns to smile at the makeup lady, who is holding a brush in mid air, confused at the hold up.

 

“Oh, sorry.” Phil says, standing up from his chair so that Dan can sit in it.

 

As he walks over to the seat in front of the mirror, he brushes Dan’s shoulder, catching the scent of him.

 

He shivers.

 

* * *

 

 

“Excuse me,” Phil says, reaching for a mug.

 

Dan shuffles to the left without a word, making room for Phil to stand as he pours himself a bowl of cereal. As Phil prepares a cup of coffee for himself, he watches Dan out of the corner of his eye.

 

He’s in his pyjamas, still. But then again, so is Phil.

 

Dan’s eyes are tired, and his back is slumped forwards, as though he’s closing in on himself. Phil knows Dan didn’t get much sleep last night; he’d been restless, tossing and turning beside him. He looks exhausted, though in truth, still unfairly pretty.

 

“Coffee?” Phil offers, and Dan glances at him, looking surprised.

 

“Okay.” He says, quiet. “Thanks.”

 

Phil opens his mouth to ask if Dan will reach for the mug, as he’s closer, but he stops, thinking of a better option. He steps towards Dan, making the younger boy drop his spoon in surprise.

 

Phil’s not sure why he does it, really.

 

There's a sudden impulse seizing hold of him; he just wants to feel Dan against him. That warm, sleep rumpled body in its soft cotton pyjama bottoms and TATINOF tour t-shirt. Phil reaches for the mug, which is in the cupboard above Dan’s head; Dan has to lean back against the counter to accommodate Phil’s movement, which he does, eyes wide.

 

Phil allows his torso to press against Dan’s, able to feel the younger boy’s heart beating in his chest.

 

“What-” Dan starts to whisper, but Phil leans away again, mug retrieved.

 

He blinks at the mug in Phil’s hand, bewildered. His cereal is going soggy in the bowl behind him, but Dan doesn’t seem to even remember that it’s there.

 

He observes Phil silently as he makes the two coffees with practiced efficiency, then hands one to Dan.

 

“Thanks.” Dan chokes out, a faint blush on his cheeks.

 

“You’re welcome.” Phil says, smiling. Dan sips his coffee gingerly, eyes fluttering closed. “You look sweet this morning.”

 

Phil’s throat constricts as soon as the words are out. He forces himself to move away, lest he do something even more unpredictable.

 

He erects a mental warning sign beside the dam as he sits at the table: 'In urgent need of repair'. 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know that thing?” Phil asks a week after Dan’s birthday.

  

Dan turns to him, mouth full of popcorn, and frowns. “Uh, what thing?”

 

Phil fidgets, pulling a popcorn kernel in half. “That thing where you said…” He huffs a sigh, trying to force the words out. “The thing you told me a while ago, when you said you’d keep reminding me?” Phil pauses, absorbing the slightly scared expression on his best friend’s face. “That you… Like, you said you would keep reminding me about how you feel about me.”

 

Phil is blushing pretty hard at this point, as he still kind of believes that Dan saying that to him was all a particularly indulgent dream. 

 

“Um, yes, I remember.” Dan says, sounding as awkward as Phil feels. “Did you want me to remind you now, or…?”

 

“Oh, um n-no.” Phil says, fidgeting. “Not unless you, uh, have a burning desire. What I was gonna say was-”

 

Right then, the lights dim, and Phil almost curses aloud. For fuck’s sake, why is he the King of terribly timed conversations?

 

“What?” Dan whispers, apparently happy to continue.

 

Phil smiles, leaning in towards him so that he can talk quietly. “I just wanted to see how you felt about all that.” He says, rooting around for the proper way to explain. His palm is growing clammy, so he wipes it on his jeans. “I know you said you’re not gonna change your mind and stuff, but I guess I just- I dunno,” Phil pauses, floundering. “I guess I just wanted to… check.”

 

When Phil meets Dan’s eyes again, even in the darkness, he can tell the younger boy is smiling.

 

“Are you asking me if I’m still in love with you?”

 

Phil’s instinct is to vehemently deny any such thing, but he stops himself just in time. It’s okay, he reminds himself, Dan isn’t going to react in the cruel way he once might have.

 

“I guess I am.” Phil says, heart in his throat.

 

He knew before they left this evening that this would be a terrifying experience, but not like this. 

 

Before Phil knows it, Dan’s lips are on his. He has barely a second to process it before they’re not again.

 

It’s a kiss so chaste that it might have been a dream, except that Phil can still taste him. He licks his lip, discreetly.

 

“I’m still in love with you, yes.” Dan confirms, his voice an amused whisper. “I’ll be in love with you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. It’s not going to change.” Dan leans back in his seat then, scooping up a handful of popcorn, which he proceeds to tip into his mouth. “Soz.”

 

Phil snorts at the sarcastic apology, then leans back in his own seat, unable to keep the grin off his face. He reaches for the popcorn, and Dan pulls it out of his reach, making him lean over for it until they’re both giggling like children.

 

“Shh!” Martyn says, turning round to glare at them from the row of seats in front. “It’s starting!”

 

Phil sighs, sticking his tongue out at his brother, and settles down to watch _The Conjuring 2_.

 

When Dan’s hand reaches over to squeeze his during a jumpscare, Phil doesn’t pull away. When that same hand remains where it is, entwined with Phil’s, he feels there’s no need to change it.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not just that Phil can’t stop thinking of Dan in a romantic way. Now that the dam is bursting, a lot of the thoughts flooding through are decidedly indecent in nature.

 

Aside from that one morning the day after Dan’s birthday, it’s been a long time. Phil can’t stop thinking about how long it’s been, in fact. Long enough that he’s tempted to bypass the phrase ‘dry spell’ and go straight for ‘desert curse’.

 

Phil is staring at Dan from the wings of the stage in Seattle, watching him hold a fake telephone to his ear and drink ‘vodka’ from a bottle as he coaches disembodied voices through some funny problems.

 

The ease with which he handles this improvised skit, cupping the audience in the palm of his hand as he winks, flirts and jokes with them… it’s more than captivating.

 

It’s fucking _hot._

Phil chugs around half his bottle of water, suddenly parched. He can see the sweat glistening off Dan’s hairline from here; his brain won’t stop providing startlingly realistic fantasies of licking it off.

 

“Too pretty,” Phil growls at Dan, though he obviously can’t hear.

 

A second too late, Phil realises he’s wearing a microphone, and almost faints in horror, before remembering he switched it off.

 

Dan glances into the wing then, grinning at something he’s just said, and Phil lifts his hand in a wave. Dan winks at him discreetly, because he’s in a flirty mood now, and Phil should just walk backstage to get his props for Weird Kid, because this is unhealthy.

 

The show ends with three standing ovations, by the end of which both he and Dan are giddy and high with adrenaline and the particular rush of excitement that comes with being on stage.

 

They burst into their dressing room, leaning on each other for support as they cackle with laughter, their hands sweaty as they cling to one another, their bodies warm and alive with feeling.

 

It’s got a lot to do with the adrenaline rush, undoubtedly, but before Phil can stop himself, he’s shoving Dan against the nearest wall and sealing their mouths together. He presses their bodies against one another so fiercely that it’s almost unbearable with the heat and the damp, but Dan is far from objecting.

 

He moans into the unexpected kiss, yanking Phil closer still, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck and shoving his tongue into Phil’s mouth. Phil’s body lights up at the taste and feel of him. He feels electricity zinging through his every nerve, rippling down his spine as Dan bites at his lip.

 

He pushes his hips forwards, not really conscious of anything except chasing this incredible feeling. Dan is so hot, and so eager. Phil licks down his throat, the salt of his sweat sparkling on his tongue.

 

Dan groans as their hips align, thrusting into Phil and grabbing him at once. Phil can feel Dan's hardness poking into his thigh, and it's exhilarating. They both gasp for air, swallowing each other’s hot, frantic breaths. It feels like Phil will die if he stops kissing Dan in this moment, and Dan seems to mirror this thought, clinging to Phil with all he has. 

  

It's just as Phil is sucking a bruise into the space below Dan’s jaw that the door to the dressing room swings open.

 

Phil jumps backwards, releasing his grip on Dan so fast that the younger boy almost falls over, needing to brace himself on a nearby chair. Martyn enters, Cornelia hot on his heels, along with several members of the crew; they all stop short at the scene they've burst in on, mouths open.

 

Phil tries his best to appear innocent, but considering both he and Dan are red-faced, panting heavily, Phil is pretty sure this doesn't work. He's ninety percent sure that Dan’s neck is sporting a large, reddening hickey, but he can’t bring himself to look. Instead, he lifts his eyes to meet Martyn's, ashamed and mildly terrified of what his older brother's reaction might be. 

 

“Um,” Martyn stutters, flushing immediately, “s-sorry. Thought you’d be…uh…”

 

“The bus is leaving in twenty minutes.” Cornelia blurts out, pink cheeked as well. She doesn’t seem to know where to look.

 

Phil kind of wishes the earth would swallow him whole.

 

“Okay.” He says weakly. “I’ll just jump in the shower and be right out.”

 

“Yeah, uh, me too.” Dan adds. Everyone turns to look at him, shocked. “I mean! Like, _after_ Phil. Duh.”

 

A small piece of Phil's soul shrivels up in humiliation, fluttering to the floor, dead.

 

“See you there.” Martyn mumbles, scurrying out of the door before another word can be said. 

 

Cornelia follows him with an awkward nod, as do the rest of the crew; nobody says another word.

 

Phil turns to Dan, beetroot red, expecting an argument over his stupidity, or possibly a cold accusation of fucking everything up. Instead, Dan is doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream of laughter.

 

Phil collapses to the floor, and lets out a humiliated groan.

 

* * *

 

 

One night, Dan turns in before Phil, who is Skyping PJ from the sitting area of the tour bus.

 

As much as Phil would like to pretend otherwise, things are tense between PJ and Dan, still. Phil has had several conversations with PJ since that day he visited him in Brighton. PJ has been understanding and outwardly open-minded as Phil explained his side; it's fairly obvious that Phil's extreme, negative reaction to PJ's accusations of Dan's cruelty had freaked him out. Phil can sense that his friend is trepidatious about stepping on Phil's toes again, trying not to speak ill of Dan in case it makes Phil angry or upset.

 

Phil isn't stupid though, and he knows that no matter if PJ pretends like he's forgiven and forgotten, he is still not happy with Dan and the way he's treated Phil for the majority of their friendship. It's fair enough, really. Phil only forgave Dan for being such a monumental twat all that time because he's in love with him. PJ doesn't even know Dan all that well. He has no reason to believe he's a good person aside from Phil's assurances.

 

In all likelihood, it's going to take a long time for PJ to come around, and to be normal around Dan again. If he ever is. 

 

Dan is well aware of how PJ feels, and so after having a polite, surface-friendly conversation during the first few minutes of PJ and Phil's Skype call, Dan had become visibly uncomfortable, and made an excuse to leave. Then, he'd gone to bed. 

 

It's difficult to say the least, knowing that the dislike PJ harbours for Dan is going strong underneath his friendly exterior. But there's nothing Phil can do except wait it out. Over time, Dan will prove himself to be a more worthy companion in PJ's eyes. Or at least that's what Phil hopes. 

 

His conversation with PJ lasts another half hour or so once Dan leaves, and Phil tries to put the tension between the two of them out of his mind. He tells PJ everything about the tour and the places he and Dan have been to. He hears all about PJ's latest endeavours and the projects he's working on, and offers advice, which he often does for PJ. They like to bounce ideas off one another from time to time, as they have similar creative interests, and their peculiar, fantastical ideas tend to form in the same way.

 

At around midnight, after a farewell to PJ for now, Phil closes his laptop, the remainder of a smile on his lips. He's glad to know at the very least that PJ will likely always remain a good friend. His feelings about Dan have not yet interfered with their friendship, and it doesn't seem likely that it will in the future. These are all positive things to keep in mind.

 

So, Phil drains the last dregs of tea from his mug, and heads for the back of the bus. He braces himself on either wall, knowing to his cost that the rocking of the bus as it barrels along is not all that compatible with his overall lack of balance, particularly late at night.

 

He’s lost count of how many cups of tea and glasses of water he’s dropped all over himself on whilst traversing this mini corridor.

 

Somehow, he manages to make it to the bedroom unscathed, pausing outside the door for a moment to prepare himself for a quiet entrance so that he won’t wake Dan.

 

He smiles softly, as he always does, at the fanmade cross-stitch hoop of he and Dan, which they have hung on the outside of the door. Then, rolling his eyes at his own soppiness, he pushes it open, softly.

 

To his total astonishment, the bed is empty.

 

This completely bewilders Phil, who has gotten so used to seeing Dan in the bed every night that his immediate thought is that Dan must have fallen off the bus somehow.

 

A moment later, he realises that’s ludicrous.

 

He turns around in the doorway, perplexed by the situation, and crosses the small distance to the tiny bunk at the edge of the corridor, wobbling a little as he goes.

 

The curtain has been drawn, but Phil somehow instinctively knows that Dan is behind it.

 

He peels it back, only to be met with the sight of the back of Dan’s head, the bristles of his chocolate hair forming a soft peak at the base of his skull.

 

For some reason, Phil is annoyed. He frowns at the sight of Dan, here, instead of being in the bed, where he belongs. It’s inexplicable, as they’d decided from the very beginning of the tour that the most sensible option for them would be to share the bed. That way, neither of them would be forced to endure countless nights of uncomfortable sleep during the tour, during which time they would urgently need adequate rest.

 

Besides that, Phil knows Dan enjoys sleeping next to him. And he likes sleeping next to Dan. It’s not something they talk about, apart from Dan begging Phil to stay the night in his room in Las Vegas the other day, but it’s an unspoken acknowledgement they both share.

 

It’s preferable to sleep with one another than to sleep alone. Far preferable.

 

So what the fuck is going on?

 

Instead of just going to bed like a reasonable, rational man might have done in Phil’s place, Phil decides to hitch himself up and clamber into the bunk, squeezing himself in beside Dan, who rolls over immediately, blinking in surprise.

 

Wow, Phil thinks, nose to nose with Dan at this point. Dan had not been exaggerating how ridiculously small this bunk is. Phil can barely move, and he’s not the one currently trapped against the wall.

 

“Um,” Dan squeaks. “Can I help you?”

 

“What are you doing in here?” Phil asks, straight to the point.

 

Dan averts his eyes, trying to shrug, but his movements are rather restricted in the tiny space. “Could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Dan,” Phil warns.

 

Dan sighs. “I just thought it was for the best.”

 

“Why?” Phil asks, practically pouting.

 

He tries to shuffle backwards a little to give Dan room to breathe, but is closer to the edge than he realises, so only succeeds in crowding Dan even more.

 

At this point, he can feel Dan’s short, shallow breaths on his chin.

 

“It’s difficult,” Dan says in a strained voice, “being in bed with you.”

 

Phil frowns at him, suddenly very aware that they’re in a bed together right at this moment.

 

“What do you mean?” Phil enquires, Dan’s nonsensical answers making him frustrated and tetchy. “We’ve been sharing a bed for months.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s a little different now.”

 

“I don’t understand you.” Phil scoffs, tempted to roll over, but fearing he will topple out of the bunk if he so much as moves an inch. “It was always a little bit weird. What’s changed?”

 

“Well, for starters, you sucked me off in bed the other day.” Dan says, sounding kind of accusatory. Phil fidgets, frowning again. “But mostly it’s that… up until this point on the tour, I’ve kind of been under the assumption that you wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole even if I slipped under the covers beside you fucking head to toe in lingerie.”

 

The image ploughs into Phil’s brain before he can stop it, knocking the air out of his lungs in one fell swoop. Dan, in jet black suspenders and stockings, his eyes hooded and dark as his lace wrapped thighs encircle Phil’s waist…

 

“And now?” Phil asks through his teeth, mind veering dramatically from left to right as he tries to dodge past all the thoughts of the boy in front of him in lacy underwear.

 

“Now I’m… not sure.” Dan says, voice hesitant. “I don’t wanna make an ass of myself and I don’t wanna freak you out. It’s just easier like this. Then I’m not tempted to… try anything.”

 

Phil is silent as he allows Dan’s explanation to fold into his brain, the frustration and annoyance beginning to seep out of his pores as he digests this very sensible reason why Dan has chosen to sleep here.

 

He’s playing it safe, because he doesn’t know where things stand.

 

It’s Phil’s fault that Dan’s confused. 

 

“What if I wanted you to?” Phil asks after some thought. “Hypothetically.”

 

“If you… wanted me to try it on with you?” Dan asks slowly, his eyes raking over Phil’s features, searching for clarification.

 

Phil nods, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite the awkwardness.

 

Dan blushes deeply, the red splotches blooming over his jaw and neck, covering him in scarlet blossom. Phil tracks the budding with hungry eyes, watching Dan turn from golden to crimson in moments.

 

“I guess if you didn’t mind it, then… sharing a bed wouldn’t be a problem.” Dan says eventually, sounding like he can barely believe his own words. He pauses, as though ruminating on them. “Is that… a purely hypothetical scenario, or…?”

 

“Not sure.” Phil answers truthfully, trying to muddle through the mess of thoughts.

 

The dam has a hole in it the size of Timbuktu at this point, and the reserve of inappropriate thoughts is rushing through it thick and fast. Phil can’t catch hold of one for long enough to work out what it means.

 

For lack of a more satisfactory answer, Phil decides to just scoot a little closer to Dan. There is virtually no space between them whatsoever, so this movement more or less closes the distance between their mouths.

 

The other millimetre left over is swiftly eradicated by Phil’s overwhelming desire, propelling him over the final hurdle.

 

It’s difficult to do all that he wants with Dan in such a confined area, but Phil does the best he can, pushing Dan flat against the wall behind him as he moulds them together. Dan seems taken aback by the surprise attack, but rolls with it all too readily, pulling Phil against him and moaning deliciously.

 

Phil’s kisses are a little rougher than normal, because he’s feeling starved again, and his technique is not helped by the jolting carriage they’re both in at the moment. Dan is just as messy in response, if not more so, propelled by some feral force that Phil recognises as a sign of desperation. Phil’s lips are bitten raw, and his scalp aches as Dan tugs at great chunks of his hair.

 

He doesn’t mind it at all. It’s glorious, in fact. The bus jolts them around, and Phil’s arm is trapped under his side; Dan is more or less confined to one stiff position, and it’s sweltering being in this tiny space.

 

But it’s perfect. It’s always perfect, because it’s Dan.

 

“You should sleep with me,” Phil intones, speaking directly into Dan’s ear, keeping his voice low.

 

Dan shudders, indicating his thoughts about that idea, so Phil shifts backwards, very carefully, and clambers – probably very ungracefully – out of the bunk.

 

Once he’s stood back in the corridor, he reaches back into the dark cavern, searching for Dan’s hand.

 

* * *

  

They’ve been kissing for hours, Phil is sure of it.

 

The adjective that springs to Phil's mind to describe what they're doing is something like ‘frottage’, which is a fancy word he’s heard for grinding the shit out of each other. Dan is currently piled in Phil’s lap, as on top of him as is physically possible. He’s shirtless, legs coiled around Phil’s waist. Both of his hands are raking through Phil’s hair.

 

Phil is pretty sure this is one of the best moments of his life, but he’s not saying that out loud.

 

Dan draws back from the kiss, looking dazed. “What do you wanna do with me?”

 

Phil can’t help it, the question has such sordid implications – he groans, hands slipping down Dan’s back to clutch at his ass. Dan giggles, blushing, but grinds himself down into the touch, sighing with pleasure.

 

“Is it pointless to ask you to fuck me?” Dan asks, sounding resigned to a negative response.

 

Phil groans again; his every instinct tells him to refuse, but he can't recall ever wanting anything more in his life than to thrust himself inside of Dan right now.

 

“Do you have lube?” Phil asks; Dan's mouth falls open.

 

He nods frantically, scrambling off of Phil’s lap in search of his bag. “Don’t ask me why I have it.”

 

“Why do you have it?” Phil asks immediately, relishing the opportunity to pounce on what he senses is a juicy secret.

 

Dan tosses him a glare. “I dare to dream, alright?”

 

Phil chuckles at him, heart stuttering. Something occurs to him as he considers Dan's answer, and he stops laughing abruptly. “Have you… used it?”

 

Dan freezes as he rifles through his belongings.

 

“While we’ve been on tour, I mean.” Phil clarifies, raising one eyebrow. 

 

Dan swallows, standing upright as he pulls a smallish bottle out of his bag. He turns to Phil, a slow smirk appearing on his lips. “Why’d you ask, Phil?”

 

Dan's answer opens a flip book of forbidden images in Phil’s brain. The visions attack Phil in their thousands, sordid and erotic enough to make him squirm.

 

“Just curious.” Phil croaks, sure he can feel his own pupils dilating. 

 

Dan is deliberately slow as he climbs back onto the bed, crawling towards Phil on all fours until he's straddled across his lap again. Phil tries to stay cool in the face of his approach, working hard to keep his impulses under control as Dan sinks onto him, still smirking.

 

“Curious, hm?" Dan asks, his voice low and mischievous now. He uses the tip of the bottle in his hand to brush a wisp of hair across Phil's forehead. "Want a recreation?”

 

“So you have used it, then.” Phil deduces, the last word of his statement lost to a gush of air that escapes his mouth as Dan pushes his hips down into Phil's crotch, merciless as he grinds them together. 

 

Dan leans in, his lips brushing over Phil’s ear. “Only when I’m thinking about you.”

 

Phil shudders, losing his grip on his own willpower as his hands fly out to grip Dan’s bare waist. “Show me.”

 

There are large pink blotches across Dan's neck and chest as he leans backwards, appearing awestruck that this is happening, but determined too. He kneels upright in order to shimmy his pyjama trousers over his hips, using Phil's shoulder to steady himself with one hand. The other holds the bottle of lube, making him less than efficient at de-clothing himself; luckily, Phil is all too prepared to help out. He bats Dan's hand away, yanking the elastic waistband over Dan's hips and bum, then, with a fair amount of balancing and shimmying about, helping him out of the trousers entirely.

 

Finally he’s naked, sat back on Phil's lap, gazing at Phil with his stupidly big, brown eyes.

 

Phil’s gaze drops to the flesh he's just uncovered, and his eyes stick to the exposed flesh of Dan’s thick, strong thighs. He runs his palms over the thin smattering of hair covering the tops of Dan's legs, feeling him grow restless under the touch.

 

"Don't tease me, please," Dan begs, dropping his forehead to Phil's shoulder. "Not tonight." 

 

Phil removes his hands in surprise, having not intended to do any such thing. "Sorry."

 

Dan leans backwards, shaking his head, then kisses Phil, rather hard. "Don't be. It's just been too long."

 

With that, Dan pops the cap of the lube open, lip caught between his teeth as he pours it over his fingers. Phil just watches him, totally speechless, growing more delirious with want every passing second. Dan reaches behind himself, a little, breathy 'oh' falling out of his mouth as he breaches his opening. He leans backwards into the sensation, grinding himself down on his own fingers with a tiny whimper. 

 

Phil simply cannot take it. 

 

Dan is atop him, fucking himself with his own awkwardly twisted hand when Phil is right here to do it for him. He cannot justify the idea of Dan pleasuring himself for Phil's entertainment whilst he wants so, so badly to take the reins. Dan's right, it's been too long for this kind of foreplay. The remnants of the dam in Phil's mind bursts, and out pours a monsoon's worth of wild, crazed desire for this boy in his lap, washing away every ounce of restraint Phil might have possessed up until now.

 

Phil pulls at Dan's wrist, almost harsh in his haste, removing Dan's hand from himself and replacing it with his own. He hears Dan's cry of surprise, followed swiftly by a drawn out groan of pleasure as he realises what's happening. He should probably have used more lubricant before he attempted this, but Phil can't bring himself to stop fingering Dan for long enough to change that. Besides, judging from Dan's enthusiastic reaction, he doesn't seem bothered by the minimal lubrication at present. 

 

Dan's arms are bracing Phil's shoulders, his hips rocking in time with the thrust of Phil's fingers inside of him, his whole body shuddering as he grinds down into the penetration. Phil grips him around the waist, eyes locked onto Dan's glazed over expression, imagining he can feel the ecstasy pouring out of Dan's skin, washing over them both. Dan's thick, warm shaking breaths breath fill his lungs. The heavy pounding of Dan's heart drums in his ears, the perfect accompanying beat to the sweet, soft melody of those high, breathy moans. 

 

"Perfect," Phil breathes, awestruck. The word slips off his tongue without permission, but he feels no desire to retract it. "You're perfect." 

 

Dan's responding moan is weak and thin, as though he can't let the implication of Phil's statement inside. His hands become claws, digging crescent marks into the skin of Phil's freckled shoulders as he rocks himself down, spearing himself on three of Phil's fingers.

 

Phil has never felt so desperate for him as he does right now, he's sure. He used to think he could die from the agony that the endless months between birthdays would bring - those never ending days of having Dan so close and yet so far, of knowing he still had so long before he was permitted to touch Dan again. Now, he cannot even comprehend it. The idea that he used to wait literal months to copulate with Dan just once is ludicrous to him now. For it seems, in this moment, clutching Dan as close as possible in the dark, rocking back of their tour bus, that he could not wait a single _second_ longer to have him. 

 

A wild, untamed animal within him has unleashed itself from whatever confines Phil had kept it in until now. It froths at the mouth, its slitted eyes fixed on its prey, teeth bared, claws extended as it sizes up its target. Phil is helpless to its wants, its urges. His mind is consumed with the primal, feral need to sink himself into Dan, to crawl inside of him and claim him, to rake his nails down Dan's spine and press his teeth into the soft, tender flesh of his throat.

 

Even as these thoughts occur to Phil, he is shocked by the unsavoury nature of them. He knows he's been keeping his thoughts about Dan at bay for quite some time, but he hadn't expected to become quite so ravenous or perverted in the face of his desires. 

 

Phil kisses down Dan's throat, teeth scraping at the soft, thrumming skin above Dan's quickening pulse, unable to help biting at it as he pushes his fingers in deeper, curling them expertly until Dan cries out. He can feel that he's biting hard enough to bruise, but he doesn't care. Dan isn't objecting, and they have professional make up artists with them on the tour. It doesn't matter anyway, because Phil wants to leave marks, wants to show everyone that so much as looks their way that Dan is his, and that he always was. He wants Dan to remember it too, every time he catches sight of his mottled skin in the mirror. He'll blush at the sight of the reddened, purpling skin, reminded of who kissed those bruises on to him, and what they mean. 

 

"Phil, fuck, stop teasing," Dan begs, sounding wrecked. "Please, please, just hurry up, I need you-"

 

Using the arm wrapped around Dan's waist, Phil pulls Dan towards him, pressing their chests together. His hand is starting to cramp a little from how its bent, three fingers deep inside him. He sees the sparkle of feverish, desperate tears in Dan's eyes, so he bites hard against Dan's collarbone, teeth knocking against the jut of it, tongue skimming its length until Dan is shivering. 

 

"Please, Phil," Dan whimpers, squirming under Phil's touch. 

 

At last, Phil relents, whipping his fingers out of Dan so abruptly that it makes him gasp.

 

"Shh, baby," Phil tells him, a hot, feverish rush of pleasure coursing through his veins as Dan twitches in response to the endearment, falling boneless against Phil. His forehead drops to meet the crook of Phil's neck and shoulder, limp and amenable. "Let me take care of you." 

 

Dan allows Phil to manoeuvre him without much difficulty, so it doesn't take long before Phil manages to reach into his pyjama pants and pull his achingly hard cock from its cloth prison. He wants to groan in ecstasy as he's freed, but chokes it down in favour of slathering himself in lube. Dan's breathing has become shallow and stuttery, his eyes trained on the movements of Phil's hand as he pumps it over his erection. 

 

The sight of his own engorged length is somewhat startling to Phil; he's been so distracted with the sight of Dan, naked and flushed, piled into his lap like a present, that he'd more or less forgotten about the painful burning lust radiating in his groin, swelling him into a frenzy. He grabs at Dan hurriedly, wanting to pick up the pace a bit now that his own desperation is flooding back to him. 

 

Dan is all too eager to shift his position until he's poised above Phil's lap, Phil's cock nudging tauntingly against Dan's slicked up entrance. Phil uses Dan's hipbones as handlebars, gripping them too tightly as Dan begins sinking onto him. Phil grits his teeth, completely overwhelmed by the sensation in seconds. His eyes roll backwards, and he hisses as the coil of immense pleasure tightens in his stomach, winding him further into a state of delirium.

 

"Fuck, Dan..." Phil chokes out, eyes stinging with tears. "You feel... oh, fuck, you feel like Heaven."

 

Dan groans, the muscles inside of him twitching and spasming as he adjusts to the intrusion. He lowers himself without finesse or care for his own wellbeing, seeming to want nothing but to have Phil fully inside of him as soon as possible. His fingers drag pathways through Phil's hair, raking along his scalp. Phil seals their mouths together, pushing his tongue into the warm, wet cavern of Dan's mouth, trying to fit as much of himself inside the boy as possible, imagining that he could climb into the depths of his soul and reside there always. 

 

It's torture, and it's rapture.

 

Dan is all over him, their bodies joined at every juncture. Their skin is fused, their mouths push against one another, their individual tastes lost in the endless kiss. Phil tilts his hips up into Dan, fingers trailing through the smattering of hair around the base of his cock, coaxing mewls and whimpers from his trembling lips. 

 

"So pretty, baby," Phil whispers into his ear, barely aware of what he's even saying, "so pretty. All mine."

 

Dan jolts then, unexpectedly, sending sparks of bliss ricocheting through Phil's body. He'd reacted to something Phil said, so Phil makes the snap decision to repeat himself.

 

"Mine," Phil whispers, licking a stripe up Dan's neck. Dan moans wantonly, gripping fistfuls of Phil's hair as his body seizes up. "All mine."

 

"Phil, fuck," Dan whispers tearily, rocking himself down onto Phil, fucking himself in earnest now, "say that again."

 

There's a strange kind of electricity in the air suddenly, misting around them. Something static and unpredictable, like the instant before lightning strikes, the air tasting metallic and thin. 

 

"Phi-il," Dan whines, his voice a desperate plea.

 

"You're mine, Dan." Phil says after a moment, awestruck by the power these words seem to hold. "You're all mine."

 

The effect is instantaneous, and ferocious. 

 

Dan comes in a great burst, wracked with enormous, shaking sobs as his cock pumps out his release, soaking them both with it. He cries out loudly, burying his face in Phil's neck, hot breaths condensing against the skin above Phil's pulse. 

 

Phil waits for him to come down from it, clutching Dan to him like he were a wounded animal. He listens to Dan's loud, heavy breaths slow and deepen, feels the frantic beating of his heart begin to steady. 

 

"I love you," Dan breathes into his throat. 

 

The sound of Dan's confession brings tears to Phil's eyes. How long must it have been since Dan said this to him after they'd done this? How often must he have wished to hear it in this context, with Dan spent and exhausted on top of him, everything wrung out of him except this one, single emotion. 

 

He's still slotted inside of Dan, can feel his muscles contracting around him. Dan shifts above him, spearing himself further onto Phil's cock. He brings their mouths together, chaste and sweet despite the way they're fitted together, and Phil can feel himself teetering on the edge of something magnificent.

 

"Do you?" Phil finds himself asking, his voice choked around a sob.

 

Dan's response is to wrap himself around Phil as tightly as possible, his arms locked around Phil's neck, legs coiled around his waist. Dan kisses hard, and squeezes harder, nodding his emphatic affirmation, leaving Phil unable to doubt him.

 

It's a split second of his own pessimism wavering, but it's enough. With Dan so close, so vibrant and so compelling, it's impossible not to believe him, if only for a moment. But a moment is enough.

 

He spills into Dan, flooding him entirely, his release pouring out over the both of them until they're both groaning. He's never seen so many stars. 

 

When he plummets back to earth, Dan is kissing his cheeks, feather soft, his hands bracing Phil's jaw. "Love you."

 

Phil stares at him, wordless. There's a boy above him, as arcane and as familiar as the English summer rain. He's a breathtaking paradox. 

 

As sweet as he is poisonous. 

 

As kind as he is cruel.

 

As loveable as he is despicable. 

 

It would be pure, unfiltered madness to love such a hurricane of a person. It would be suicidal. A suspense of any modicum of sanity.

 

Dan's peaceful, contented smile pushes a crescent moon into his freckled cheek. 

 

"I love you too," Phil says without hesitation, his bursting heart propelling him forwards until their lips meet, and he can kiss Dan with all that he has. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil is exhausted. His bones feel like peanut brittle, and his poor excuses for muscles are overcooked spaghetti. He’s been laying motionless in this position for so long that he’s pretty sure the mattress will have a permanent Phil-indent.

 

He should get some sleep, really. But he can’t find the willpower within himself to let his eyes fall closed. The scene in front of him is too magnificent. It’d be blasphemy to turn away.

 

A half-remembered Aerosmith song floats into Phil’s brain, laughable in its suitability.

 

_I don’t wanna close my eyes,_

_I don’t wanna fall asleep_

_‘cause I’d miss you babe._

_And I don’t wanna miss a thing…_

Dan’s fingers move to trace Phil’s lips. “What’re you thinking about?”

 

The younger boy hasn’t stopped beaming since they ceased their activities. His dimples are permanent fixtures now, dug so deeply into his cheeks that Phil is sure they’re never be eradicated.

 

Phil sighs, reaching up to capture Dan’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

 

“Just that you’re here.” Phil answers softly. He brings Dan’s fingers to his mouth again, kissing each one in turn. "You're real. And you're still here."

 

“I am,” Dan agrees, a hint of amusement glittering in his smile. He squeezes Phil's fingers between his own, shuffling closer with a contented sigh. “I don't think I ever need to move, in fact. Shall we just stay here forever?”

 

“Mm.” Phil says noncommittally.

 

His vague answer betrays the tumult of conflicting feelings somersaulting through his mind. He emotions won't settle, in turn arguing that this has been the most impossible, magical and perfect moment of his life, and also that he's made an enormous, catastrophic mistake. 

 

It's so difficult to extract the negative energy surrounding post-coitus moments with Dan after all this time. For years, the moments after they've had sex have been unbearable for Phil, because although they are lovely, they have always been loaded with the sickening knowledge of impending abandonment. Of the chance Phil has had to touch and kiss Dan being over for another six months. The loud, urgent ticking of a doomsday clock still pounds in Phil's ears, as it does every time he lays beside Dan in the aftermath of their intimacy. He knows, deep down, that this time is different, and that the clock should be stopped tonight.

 

Try as he might to ignore it, however, the tocks reverberate in Phil's brain, unsettling him, preventing him from being able to relax in Dan's embrace. He knows Dan must be confused, seeing him so tense and unhappy in the wake of what has just occurred, but it's out of his control. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Dan asks immediately, his smile falling from his lips as he senses the off-kilter atmosphere. His fingers clamp around Phil's, probably without him realising. A look of fear passes across his gorgeous, dampened face. “Do you regret it?”

 

Phil squeezes his hand back, smiling faintly in what he hopes is reassurance. “No, I don’t.”

 

He's glad that saying that didn't feel like a lie.

 

“So what’s with the lack of smiles?” Dan asks, his voice strained as he tries to keep things light.

 

“I guess…” Phil thinks for a moment, still trying to articulate his many thoughts without much success. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

 

He doesn’t like to think pessimistically about his and Dan’s future, as it only makes everything seem worse than it is. But if he’s honest with himself, a part of Phil wonders if the thing that’s been keeping Dan so charged up with wanting to be a couple again is the fact that Phil’s been withholding sex until now.

 

Dan is so fickle with his rapidly changing thoughts and feelings. Who is to say whether or not, now, after they’ve had sex, the intensity of Dan’s ‘love’ for him mightn't just peter out? Perhaps Dan had an idea in his mind that he and Phil having sex again would solve everything, that it would eradicate their issues and make him totally, utterly content.

 

The reality is, of course, that this won’t be the case.

 

Phil’s happy that this has happened, of course, but he’s not stupid and he knows that they’re still going to have to work hard if they want this to become a sustainable, happy relationship. A lot of wounds are still healing, for both of them.

 

Sure, Phil wishes he had magical sex powers that could solve everything, but he doesn't. If he did, then Dan's ridiculous Birthday Sex plot would have had a much happier ending, and he would have gotten Dan back years ago.

 

Instead, all that seems to happen when Phil gives in to Dan's seductive qualities is that everything gets messier. He knows things are different now, and Dan isn't planning on treating him like a puppet on a string this time, but it's extremely hard not to assume that, post coitus, everything's about to veer steeply downhill.

 

“You still don’t trust me, do you?” Dan asks, his expression making it clear he has already guessed the answer. “You don’t trust that I’m not gonna do a one-eighty and freak out again. You still think that I'm about to tell you I've made a huge mistake and that I don't love you after all."

 

Phil opens his mouth, about to protest this, but realises that, regrettably, Dan’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. He closes his mouth again, feeling guilty for his own doubt.

 

“I’m sorry." Phil says in a quiet voice. "I can’t help it.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dan sighs, pulling his hand from Phil’s grasp. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s my fault.”

 

The bus jolts as it runs over a speed bump, jostling Dan a little. Phil is starting to feel a little queasy, and he's only fifty percent sure it's due to his motion sickness.

 

“I want to believe you.” Phil tries, his voice sounding feeble to his own ears as he reaches out to place a hand on Dan's bare shoulder. "It's just hard. I spent so long wishing you'd say that you loved me and you wanted me, but... now that you are, I don't think I can really accept it."

 

"I know," Dan says, teeth gritted as he shuts his eyes. "It's ok, I know. You're too messed up by what I did for this to change anything between us." Dan sighs, his eyes opening with reluctance. He turns onto his side, facing Phil with a miserable expression. "You're not gonna let yourself fall for it again. I understand that. Sensible, really." 

 

Phil wants to correct him. He wants to kiss the disappointment off Dan's face and tell him that he'll get over it, that his silly worries and doubts don't matter, and that he'll jump right back into the no-man's-land that is a relationship with Dan if it will make him happy. He wants to tell Dan everything he is so desperate to hear, but he won't. Because Phil spent years in Dan's shoes, desperate and wishing for something more than just sex and the occasional flirtatious comment.

 

Being in that state of constant yearning has drained the energy from Phil's slow, plodding heart. He can't bring himself to walk willingly back into that position again, blind as ever to how it might turn out. Dan will survive waiting for Phil to decide if this is worth it.

 

It's not something to consider lightly, after all. Agreeing to be with Dan again romantically would mean gambling everything he has on the one thing he swore to himself he never would. This isn't a 50/50 red-or-black roulette game, or a funny slot machine themed around a bad movie. This is Phil's life. He's so damaged by the last five years that he's sure he wouldn't survive if Dan broke his heart again. The risk of this bet is one that not even the most hardened gambling addict would take, Phil is sure. By any statistic, the odds of actually winning Dan's heart, completely and indefinitely, are infinitesimal. Dan is too fickle, too unpredictable, too insecure to have any real certainty about what he might want in the next few years, or even the next few minutes.

 

Could it really be justifiable for Phil to make this absurd leap of faith, and trust that Dan has changed somehow, that he won't just slip out of Phil's reach again, leaving him scrabbling in the dust of Dan's speeding footsteps, leading into the distance?

 

"Maybe I won't feel like this forever." Phil suggests, the words coming out stinking of Phil's disbelief. 

 

“Yeah,” Dan says flatly, rolling away from Phil again. “Maybe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Exhausted from a night of strenuous activity both on the mind and the body, Phil intends to stay asleep until he’s physically hauled out of the bed. Instead, however, he wakes to a still-dark room, and a still-moving bus.

 

He feels Dan tapping him gently on the arm, his face almost absurdly close.

 

“Phil?” Dan asks, his voice an urgent whisper.

 

“Wha…”

 

“Phil, I think I may have an idea.” Dan says, sounding like he’s standing on the edge of a clifftop. His voice wobbles, and Phil thinks he might be able to feel trembling.

 

Christ, he’s too tired for this. What the heck is going on?

 

“Idea?” Phil echoes, rubbing some sleep dust out of his eye. “What're y'on about?”

 

“I've thought of something." Dan continues in a garble. "A way you could trust that I’m not going anywhere.” There's a pause, and Dan's voice drops into a petrified whisper. “That I’ll always love you an absurd amount and that nothing will change about that.”

 

Phil sighs, barely resisting the strong urge to find a nearby sock and shove it – lovingly, of course – into Dan’s mouth. 

 

“Dan, can we talk about this in the morning?” Phil asks, feeling his eyes fall closed again.

 

He rolls onto his back, trying to fall back into the comfortable position he’d been thoroughly enjoying whilst unconscious.

 

“Not really.” Dan answers, which, admittedly, peaks Phil's interest. He lets his eyes crack open a sliver, peeking out at Dan in mild curiosity. He's met with the face of anxiety and terror, planted over Dan's features. “I might not be brave enough in the morning.”

 

He's definitely trembling, Phil realises with a frown. He reaches his hand out to Dan's shoulder, trying to still him. His eyes open a little more as he begins to realise something might be wrong here. 

 

“Okay," Phil tells him, stifling a yawn as he reluctantly forces himself into waking. "Let’s hear it.”

 

There’s a prolonged silence, during which time Phil can’t help but try and predict what the next words out of Dan’s mouth will be. He's trying to keep an open mind about whatever 'idea' Dan has thought up in the dead of night to save their unlikely relationship, but he can't keep the pessimism that's sarcastically taunting his every thought away. 

 

Whilst it’s adorable that Dan is obviously so upset about the idea of Phil not being able to trust him enough to embark in a relationship with him again, it doesn't change a damn thing. Phil cannot foresee any sentence that Dan could utter that would make him feel differently, no matter how much Phil wishes he could. Years of manipulation and heartbreak have skyrocketed the levels of Phil’s insecurity, turning him into a paranoid, negative wreck of the Phil he'd been when he first met Dan.

 

The Birthday Sex, fun as it was at times, ruined Phil completely.

 

It's skinned him alive, flaying off his hope and confidence piece by piece. Now Phil is rubbed raw, his shiny, pink, vulnerable tissue exposed to the air, sensitive to the slightest inkling that Dan could be lying to him. Every embrace Dan gives him is bittersweet - both euphoric and excruciating. Phil leans into Dan's new, mad confessions of love, greedy for them, hoovering them up and storing them selfishly in the back of his brain, poring over them. But at the same time his body repels them, hideously defensive after years of needing to grow a thick skin in the face of all Dan's lies and manipulation. 

 

There is only one way Phil can see his Birthday Sex-inflicted wounds healing enough to allow a cautious re-embarkment with Dan romantically. That one way is _time._ As they say, time is the only thing that can heal everything, and Phil hangs on to the belief that it might. Because to be with Dan, as a couple, would be a dream of his most fantastical imaginings. He's wanted nothing more since he met Dan, after all. If he could see the two of them being happy and functional in a relationship right now, Phil would jump at the chance. 

 

But he's too hurt, and he's too raw, still, from the pain of everything that's happened. He hopes, dearly, that one day he won't be. Maybe on that day, he'll find it within himself to allow Dan back in. 

 

How else, apart from with time, could Dan show Phil that he's not going anywhere, after all? There's no shortcut for it that Phil can think of, nor any way to cheat the system. Dan can't prove that he's not going to lurch right back into that insecure, terrified mindset of rejecting his feelings for Phil once again. Perhaps if he's still telling Phil he loves him and wants him years from now, Phil could start to believe him. 

 

But right now, Phil is damn sure that nothing Dan is about to say will do what only time can. 

 

“Marry me.”

 

The words hang in the air, two tantalising cherries dangling from a stem, right in front of Phil’s nose.

 

He blinks, and they fall to the ground, making him laugh.

 

“Good one." Phil chuckles, feeling the energy once again dribble out of his body. Of course Dan would be joking about right now. He never had any kind of 'idea', he's just messing around, and Phil is way, way too tired to play along. He closes his eyes with a sigh. "I'm sleeping now.”

 

Immediately, there's a tap on his shoulder.

 

“Uhhh,” Phil groans, opening his eyes again. “What is it?”

 

“I’m not joking, Phil.” Dan tells him; to his credit, there’s not a hint of anything but sincerity in his expression. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

 

Bewildered, Phil blinks his eyes several times, brain working sluggishly to suss out some sort of alternative meaning in Dan's voice or expression. He comes up empty, frowning. 

 

“What?” He asks again.

 

“Yeah,” Dan says, shrugging. His fingers twist together nervously, and Phil’s eyes fall to the movement, bewildered. “Sorry I don’t, like, have a ring or anything. I’ve only just thought about it. But if you want one I’ll get you one, I swear." Dan breathes out a gush of air, fingers still twisted together. "We’ll go tomorrow. Or back in London, or- crap, I’m rambling. I’m really fucking nervous because I know you’re not gonna say yes. I mean, why the fuck would you, y’know? I’ve lied and hurt you countless times. I’m a mean, miserable bastard and I’m kind of thinking I might have a drinking problem. There is literally no reason for you to say yes, but I thought I’d ask so that-”

 

“You’re serious?” Phil interrupts, voice a husk of itself.

 

Everything has gone quiet. He no longer hears the bus’ groaning rumble. A thick, weighty blanket of silence has been thrown over both he and Dan. All he can feel is the force of it pushing down on him, compacting his chest, suffocating the air from his lungs. It covers his whole body, stilling the blood gushing in his veins, making his heart strain to beat.  

 

Dan nods tentatively. “Yes.”

 

“Why…” Phil starts to say, his throat constricting. He swallows, trying to clear his airways. It occurs to him that it’s probable this is a dream, and it lifts some of the pressure. “Why would you want that? You hate marriage.”

 

“I wouldn’t hate it if I was married to you.” Dan says in response, which, for Phil, is akin to hearing him recite the entirety of the Qur’an in Arabic. “I was just laying here after you went to sleep, thinking about how I could prove to you that I’m never gonna change how I feel. How I could make you see that I’m never going to want anyone else, and that I’m yours, exclusively, forever… and then it just, like, occurred to me." Dan is babbling a little, but he sounds enlightened, as though an epiphany has pinged through his slight body whilst Phil has been asleep next to him, unaware. "There’s a literal ceremony where you can swear pretty much exactly that, in front of witnesses, and then you’re bound together by _law._ ”

 

Something hot and wet slides down Phil’s left cheek. He lifts his hand to brush it off, only to realise it’s a tear. 

 

The drop of moisture collected on the tip of his finger confuses Phil. He's so certain this can't be real, but the sensation of the water is so lifelike. He touches his thumb to his moistened fingertip, eyes widening as the tear becomes a filmy layer caught between the pads of his fingers. 

 

Perhaps he isn't dreaming. 

 

“You want to marry me?” Phil asks, mesmerised by the peculiar string of words even as they fall off his own tongue.

 

“More than anything.” Dan answers, his voice strained with urgency.

 

Phil unsticks his eyes from the end of his finger, dragging them up to meet Dan's. They glimmer golden in the low light of this back room, wide and, shining with unshed tears. The longer he looks, the deeper they seem, until Phil is falling straight into the enormous, gaping pupils of Dan's eyes, tumbling into the dark voids until he's adrift in the galaxy of this moment, stars catching on his skin, asteroids skimming over his body. 

 

He tears his eyes away, scared by the intensity. His heart is so loud in his ears that he feels he's about to be deafened by it. He blinks furiously, tears falling without his control, blinding him as they flood his face, drenching him.

 

“I don’t understand.” Phil says truthfully; he realises now that it's him that's shaking. He tightens his grip on Dan's shoulder, trying to remember how to breathe. “You don’t want me. Not  _forever._ ”

 

He feels hands cupping his dampened face, but the press of lips that follows is too much to bear. Dan's petal-soft kiss burns him, acidic and sharp against his mouth. Phil tries to draw away, stunned and confused, but can't make himself. Instead, he pushes himself into it, feeling the taste of Dan stinging through him, nettles and electric shocks and the kind of burn that rips at your skin when you touch something frozen.

 

When Dan draws away, his face is wet with tears.

 

“I do, Phil.” He says, the irony of his phrasing not escaping Phil’s notice. “I don’t want forever without you.”

 

Phil presses his lips together. Something is tugging at his heart, trying to pull it clean out of his chest. An image of Dan, yanking at it, wanting it for himself, leaps into his mind. 

 

“Ask me again.” Phil tells him, and Dan nods, swallowing. 

 

Dan reaches out, placing both palms flat against Phil's chest. He breathes deeply, locking his eyes to Phil's. 

 

“Phil Lester, will you marry me?”

 

A rocket launches in Phil’s chest, bursting up from beneath his diaphragm and bursting into brilliant, glittering rays of technicolour sparks, all of which flood his body, spreading themselves from the top of his head, right into each of his fingertips and toes.

 

A sob escapes him, and he propels forwards, pushing himself against Dan’s lips with enough force to knock him onto his back.

 

“Yes,” he says, hysterical laughter beginning to bubble up as he peppers Dan with kisses, “yes, yes, yes.”

 

* * *

 

Phil gets no sleep.

 

After a long, long makeout session proceeding an actual proposal, Dan drifts off in Phil’s arms, the consciousness kissed out of him. Phil holds Dan to his chest in a ginger, tentative embrace, one hand stroking his wispy brown hair.

 

He stares, awestruck, at the boy who he just became _engaged_ to, for so long that he doesn’t even notice the sun streaming in through the curtains.

 

He squints as the rays of sunshine glint across his vision, disoriented in the face of them. He recalls that he’d been extremely tired when Dan woke him up earlier, but that’s gone completely. He feels as though he could never sleep again.

 

What would be the point?

 

Dan asked Phil to marry him. He asked if they could spend their entire lives together. 

 

Sleep is irrelevant. So is everything else.

 

Phil is brimming with the war of emotion raging inside his body. Elation is battling crippling doubt, the ferocity of their battle keeping him from slumber. His heart is under strain from the fierce conflict, leaving Phil with a constant squeezing sensation in his chest.

 

He can't let himself fall asleep. What if, while he's unconscious, Dan wakes up and realises he's made a huge, foolish mistake born of post-orgasmic delirium and the culmination of months of waiting for Phil to give in to his desires?

 

It seems so likely that Dan will open his eyes to the sight of Phil, laid next to him, a metaphorical ring on his finger, and the blood will drain from his face. He'll come to his peculiar senses, pull himself out of Phil’s arms and run speedily away from this absurd level of commitment before it’s even begun.

 

After all, this is the same Dan who couldn't even bring himself to tell his own close friends and family that he was in a relationship with Phil all that time ago. Sure, he's grown some, but Dan isn't a different person now. It's so difficult to believe that Dan has changed enough to accept himself loving Phil enough to embark in something so... permanent. 

 

A lifetime is a really long time to promise to someone. 

 

For several minutes more, these fearful imaginings swim around Phil's head, a tornado of terror. 

 

Then, the sun rises in Phil's arms, and Dan begins to stir.

 

Phil swallows thickly, practically frantic with nerves. He's sure that this maddeningly perfect twenty-five year old is about to meet his eyes with a look of horrified regret, and that the next few moments will be the most agonising of Phil's young life. There's just no realistic version of life that Phil can conceive of where he gets to have Dan, in just this way, every morning for as long as he lives. 

 

How could there be a forever in front of him where he gets to kiss Dan at any opportunity? To hear returned 'I love you's and breathy gasps of pleasure in the dead of night? To never see Dan in the arms of anyone else, or watch any other person make him smile the way he reserves for Phil? 

 

Years have passed with Phil dreaming of getting Dan at last, but he never imagined this in his most fantastical daydreams. He wouldn't let himself. It's too absurd of a desire, it's too unrealistic to hope for. Dan would never marry him, it just wouldn't happen. 

 

So why did he ask?

 

Dan yawns widely, his eyes peeling open, thick black lashes fluttering. Phil holds his breath, trying to prepare himself for Dan’s hurried backtrack, for the stammered excuses and claims of momentary insanity.

 

Gradually, Dan tips his head back, two sparkling, warm nutella eyes meeting his. The sunlight pours itself liberally over one half of Dan’s lightly freckled cheek; he closes one eye, blinded by it, and melts into a serene, perfectly happy smile.

 

“Morning, future husband.” Dan says, his voice low and sleep-roughened.

 

Phil’s heart splits open, the thick, warm, treacly love pouring out - a molten lava cake, broken open by Dan's sweet, sharp knife. The love floods his veins, warming his insides as it slips through his core, running into the tips of his fingers, his toes, the sharp lines of his cheeks, boiling the moisture in his eyes until they sting. 

 

Dan hums contentedly, snuggling in towards Phil until he has closed the short distance between their mouths. Phil can feel his smile. Dan's stretched lips tingle with warmth, softer and sweeter than Phil can ever remember them being. He is lost in the feel of it, able only to press back gently, his own lips not behaving how he wants them.

 

Dan leans away, pressing his lips together as if he’s savouring the taste.

 

“Could get used to waking up like that.” Dan murmurs, still smiling away.

 

His arms are stretched out in front of him, looped loosely around Phil’s neck.

 

“I thought maybe… you’d have changed your mind.” Phil confesses quietly, and Dan just smiles wider.

 

“Me? Unsure about what I want?” Dan says jokily. “Never.”

 

“We're...” Phil breathes, utterly disbelieving. His heart begins pumping harder. “...going to marry each other." Dan smirks at him, nodding. "I’ve got you forever.”

 

Dan nods again, fervent excitement written in his glittering eyes. “Forever.”

 

Phil smiles then, feeling it break upon his mouth like the foam on a tidal wave, the love inside of him frothing and churning, whipped up like cotton candy, as sweet and ephemeral as the taste of Dan’s sunkissed skin.

 

“I love you.” Phil tells him, the words strange on his tongue; he hasn’t said it unprompted in some time, he realises. He’s been too scared of it, of how transient it could sound in the face of Dan's own confessions.

 

The fear of this being too miraculous is leaving him now, Phil can feel it. With one, quiet question Dan has pulled a plug out of some membrane in his soul, and now the crippling doubt is starting to drain away.

 

The hole is small, though, and it will take a long time to bleed out completely. What’s more, Phil has no idea how much there is to get rid of. It could take months, or years. It could take a few days. When Dan smiles at him like he is right now, that mesmerising face of his brimming with love and certainty, it's hard to harbour any negative thoughts for long, after all. 

 

It's mad, truly, Phil thinks, one finger tracing Dan’s jaw. Dan has just asked one thing, but it might just be enough. Phil never thought this could happen. He never saw, until now, that Dan could ever want him this much, for as long as he's alive. The fact he even asked this is a pure, indisputable miracle. They've been engaged for less than six hours, but somehow Phil is pretty sure, staring into Dan's utterly contented, blissed out face, that there's no going back.

 

Dan asked for marriage. Not for sex, or a tentative relationship with restrictions and rules. He's not the same terrified, incredibly insecure little amoeba he was at eighteen. Phil might have been too close to see the change in him until now, but it's obvious at this moment. Dan has grown. He's become himself. He's sure of who he is, and he's sure of what he wants. He's sorry for how he was in the past, and he's proving every day that he's going to be better in the future.

 

He wants Phil, and has for years. He wants him forever.

 

Before Phil completely surrenders to this, he's definitely going to force Dan to follow through with that promise of a ring. It's partially to show off to any of their loved ones that Dan has claimed him, always. But it's also so that anytime Phil doubts it, he can just glance down at his hand, and remember how totally mad, how unbelievably lucky, and how utterly perfect his life is.

 

He can remember that despite everything, all the harsh, cruel, agonising moments he spent tortured and alone, wanting so much and receiving so little, Dan is his now. He won the prize, the chance to see Dan's sleepy, pretty smile first thing every morning. So all of it, every damn second, was worth it. 

 

“I love you too.” Dan says happily, his smile still fixed in place.

 

Phil suspects it might be there for some time. 

 

Giddy with euphoria, Phil leans towards him, pressing his lips to Dan's; the first time of many, many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources:
> 
> GOD BLESS THE WONDER OF DAPGO CAN I JUST SAY
> 
> Phil gets sick after a week and a half of touring the US, it makes him sleep a lot.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Dan and Phil's Story of TATINOF" [YouTube Red Film], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DD23u88DGeg&t=2149s, 33:28.
> 
> Dan and Phil attend the YouTube Creator's Summit in New York on the May 4th, 2016. A lot of their Youtube friends attend as well, including Louise Pentland, Pewdiepie, Markiplier, Joe Sugg, Zoe Sugg, Alfie Deyes, etc.  
> \- Sunset Lane Entertainment (2016), "YouTube Creator Summit 2015 & 2016" [webpage], http://sunsetlaneentertainment.com/work/yts/.  
> \- typicalfangirlofstuffandthings (2016), "How to make a maragarita, according to Markiplier." [video], http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/161282937045/typicalfangirlofstuffandthings-how-to-make-a.  
> \- voidphxn (2016), "dan and phil at the YouTube Creator Summit" [gifset], http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/161282931600/voidphxn-dan-and-phil-at-the-youtube-creator.  
> \- dailyphan (2016), "Dan and Phil in New York at the #CreatorSummit - 4th May 2016 -" [collection of fan photos], http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/161282927165/dailyphan-dan-and-phil-in-new-york-at.  
> \- gavthe3rd (2016), "Youtube Creator Summit | 4th May 2016" [photoset], http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/161282918465/gavthe3rd-youtube-creator-summit-4th-may-2016.
> 
> Dan and Phil go to Niagra Falls and a baseball game in Canada, then to a revolving restaurant  
> \- Daniel Howell & Phil Lester (2016), "Dan and Phil Go Outside" [photobook], (Penguin Random House: UK), p. 124-131.
> 
> A girl throws a condom on stage in Toronto 2 nights running  
> \- TATINOF Toronto (2016), "shout out to condom girl" [tweet and video], https://twitter.com/tatinofTORONTO/status/729098608671371264.
> 
> Dan and Phil perform TATINOF in vegas on Dan's birthday  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "#TATINOF is coming to VEGAS on June 12th!! tickets on sale tomorrow at 10am PDT http://danandphiltour.com (it's like a live vegas video)" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/718574249548627968. 
> 
> Phil tweets a photo of Dan in a hat on his birthday  
> \- AmazingPhil (2016), "Landed in Vegas! Time to celebrate a DANTASTIC BIRTHDAY #HappyBirthdayDan" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/741689078463205376.
> 
> Dan tweets this on his birthday  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "25. i must be at least a quarter way towards death now how exciting!" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/741703031671140352. 
> 
> And this  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "(thx for all the birthday messages ur alright)" [tweet], https://twitter.com/danielhowell/status/741704311642697728. 
> 
> Dan and Phil see Le Rêve on Dan's birthday  
> \- Daniel Howell & Phil Lester (2016), "Dan and Phil Go Outside" [photobook], (Penguin Random House: UK), p. 180.  
> \- vegas.com (n/a), "Le Rêve - The Dream" [webpage], https://www.vegas.com/shows/production/le-reve-las-vegas/. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dan receives a bottle of patron and a llamacorn piñata on his birthday, then carts it round with him for the whole night  
> \- Daniel Howell & Phil Lester (2016), "Dan and Phil Go Outside" [photobook], (Penguin Random House: UK), p. 178, 179, 180. 
> 
> Dan eats dinner/cake (presumably with Phil) on his birthday in what looks like a deserted restaurant  
> \- Daniel Howell & Phil Lester (2016), "Dan and Phil Go Outside" [photobook], (Penguin Random House: UK), p. 180.
> 
> Dan and Phil go to a casino with a Gremlins slot machine and a Game of Thrones slot machine - IP Biloxi  
> \- IP Biloxi (2016), http://www.ipbiloxi.com/play/slot-search. 
> 
> Phil wins $550 on the Gremlins slot machine and then bets $100 on red at a roulette table  
> \- Daniel Howell & Phil Lester (2016), "Dan and Phil Go Outside" [photobook], (Penguin Random House: UK), p. 181, 182.
> 
> Dan and Phil see the Conjuring 2 at the cinema on the 18th June  
> \- Phil Lester (2016), "  
> Just saw The Conjuring 2! I almost dropped my popcorn about 7 times" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/744081286424211456.


	12. EPILOGUE: Phil's Thirtieth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it bitchez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just me writing you (yes, you, reading this) a love letter because you have stuck with me through all the pain and suffering I put your faves through. I love you so much, reader, so please accept my gift of the most vomit-inducing, syrupy sweet happily ever after I could physically manage. 
> 
> I owe you all my life tbh. 
> 
> xxx
> 
> P.S The song mentioned in this last chapter WILL be available to hear as soon as Nova {planetkids), the love of my life, has finished composing it. 
> 
> Please follow my tumblr (danfanciesphil.tumblr.com) for DELETED SCENES, PLAYLISTS, ARTWORK and other rad updates! 
> 
> xx

30th January 2017, (Phil is 30)

 

8:00am

 

“Happy Birthday.”

 

It takes a few seconds for Phil to wake up properly, but Dan is all too happy to wait. He feels a fond smile softening his mouth as he watches the crinkle of Phil’s nose, the deep inhale he takes before peeling open his sleep dusted eyes. Beneath the covers, Dan’s hand rests on Phil’s hip, his thumb stroking softly over the waistband of his pyjama trousers.

 

Eventually, Phil’s eyes narrow, focusing on him at last. Dan smiles wider, ridiculously pleased as always to be the first thing Phil sees in the morning nowadays, even if he probably does look a fright.

 

“Hm?” Phil croaks in response to him, sounding baffled and sleepy still, as though he’s still half in dream.

 

He shuffles towards Dan a short way in what seems to be an instinctual movement, apparently craving Dan’s proximity.

 

Dan giggles quietly, allowing the hand on Phil’s hip to slip over to the small of his back as Phil inches closer. He finds the hem of Phil’s pyjama top and slides his fingers underneath it, trailing them over the skin there.

 

“It’s your birthday.” Dan reminds him gently, watching as Phil peers up at him owlishly, still squinting because he’s not wearing his glasses.

 

He looks adorable. Like a fluffy stuffed animal or a helpless woodland creature. Dan leans forwards without really meaning to, pecking Phil on the lips, drawn in by his expression alone.

 

When he pulls away, Dan imagines he can see a glimmer of worry pass over Phil’s features, creasing the skin around his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it appears however, melting into a look of contented, if slightly trepidatious, happiness.

 

“Oh,” Phil sighs, smiling back at last. “Thank you.”

 

He brings a pale hand out of the covers to scrub at the sleep-dust caking his eyelids. The morning sunlight is filtering through the blinds, pouring itself over Phil’s fingers so that they seem to glimmer, practically translucent. It’s captivating to behold.

 

Dan reaches up, catching Phil’s hand with his own and lacing his fingers through the spaces between Phil’s. He squeezes tightly, eyes flicking down to meet the ice blue irises inches from his. There’s a look of barely contained, scared excitement in those eyes – a look that Dan is sure is mirrored in his own returning stare. He feels Phil’s other hand worm its way through the sheets and covers until its placed over his furiously beating heart.

 

Dan hopes Phil won’t read into his obvious nerves too much. There’s a just an awful lot on his mind this morning.

 

Phil just squeezes his hand again, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the skin covering Dan’s knuckles.

 

“We should probably get up.” He mumbles, his voice muffled as he presses his mouth against Dan’s hand.

 

To combat the nerves fluttering in his tummy, Dan decides a joke will have to suffice in place of a real response. “Why?” He asks mischievously. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

 

Phil rolls his eyes, shoving Dan lightly in the shoulder. “Dick.”

 

Dan chuckles, his heart slowing again in the face of Phil’s fond exasperation.

 

“I think we have time for, hmm…” Dan pushes his lips to the tip of Phil’s nose, smiling at the sweet little flutter of Phil’s lashes as he does so. “Ten more minutes in bed?”

 

“If you say so.” Phil relents, tilting his face up so that Dan will kiss him.

 

Dan chuckles at this, but leans in readily, all too happy to feel the soft, warm lips of his best friend pressing against his own.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning after Dan arrives back in England after the tour, he finds himself standing in an antiques and jewellery store in Kensington, dithering.

 

A smartly dressed woman across the room is eyeing him subtly from behind a glass counter; Dan is determinedly not allowing himself to catch her eye.

 

He’s starting to feel extremely out of place. From the moment he walked into this quaint, tiny and opulent show room, he’s felt a worryingly powerful urge to walk briskly back out again, the little brass bell tinkling madly as he sprints out of the door.

 

He doesn’t though, because he came in here with a purpose. He has something that he needs, and that something is so very important that it drowns out any discomfort Dan might be feeling at present.

 

He can’t help but keep thinking, however, of the old expression ‘a bull in a china shop’ as he steps as carefully as he can manage around the cramped, small space. Shelves and cabinets line the walls of this showroom, packed with expensive trinkets and ornaments of every origin and time period. There are even some larger, fancier pieces strung from the ceiling, or dotted about on the floor.

 

It would be just his luck to spin on his heel and knock over a priceless row of nineteenth century crystal fedoras or something equally mad.

 

At the moment, he lingers by a wooden cabinet with glass panelling near the far wall of the shop, peering in at the displays of rings.

 

His eyes skim over the various shelves inside the cabinet for the hundredth time, and he sighs in frustration, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Is it supposed to be this overwhelming? Are they all meant to look the same to him?

 

Something in Dan’s heavy exhale evidently prompts action in the mind of the saleswoman that has been watching him.

 

She closes a black book in which she’d been writing something, her French manicure transforming the simple movement into something elegant and graceful. Instinctively, Dan’s eyes flick down to her ring finger, noting the diamond in place there.

 

Dan finds himself wondering if the person who presented her with that beautiful ring had anywhere near as much trouble picking it out as he’s having.

 

He blinks, bleary-eyed, forcing a smile as the woman approaches him, her heels clacking across the hardwood floor. He wishes he’d stopped to get a coffee on his way here; perhaps that would have cleared his mind a little.

 

He didn’t want to though, because he had a vague plan to pick coffee up on the way home, along with some croissants or something, so that he could be back in time to have a late breakfast in bed with Phil before they got up to face the day.

 

When planning this – rather spontaneous – early morning shopping trip, Dan had mistakenly assumed it would take no more than an hour to find a ring and purchase it. It’s looking more and more likely that it’s going to take a lot longer.

 

Perhaps he can kiss his dreams of watching Phil drop flakes of pastry into the bedclothes and pretending to be annoyed about it goodbye.

 

“Good morning, Sir. Can I help you?” The shop assistant asks politely, stopping in front of the cabinet beside him.

 

Dan's eyes immediately flick down to the gold name tag pinned to her breast pocket, which reads 'Kayleigh'. 

 

“Um, maybe.” Dan answers, then swallows thickly, already dreading what he’s going to force himself to ask. “First… this is a really embarrassing question, but you don’t… recognise me, do you?”

 

Kayleigh's thin eyebrows shoot upwards, surprised. Her gaze flicks over him from head to toe, assessing quickly.

 

“I’m afraid not, Sir.” She says after a moment, sounding uncertain. “Should I?”

 

“No, no!” Dan exclaims, cheeks heating as he forces out a puff of laughter. “I don’t expect… It’s just- I’m sort of trying to keep a low profile. Don’t worry I’m not some kind of celebrity or anything.”

 

“I can assure you complete customer confidentiality, Sir.” Kayleigh says reassuringly, her coral lips stretched wide. “No matter the circumstance.”

 

“Uh… thanks.” Dan mutters, shifting from foot to foot.

 

“You’re quite welcome.” She answers brusquely. “Now then, what is it you’re looking for?”

 

“Um,” Dan says, glancing back into the depths of the cabinet with a modicum of fear, “a ring, I guess.”

 

“A ring?” The woman repeats, one eyebrow raised. “For yourself?”

 

“Oh, no.” Dan says with a small chuckle. “It’s for my, uh, my… f-fiancé.”

 

Dan is humiliated to find that his tongue is apparently still tripping over the alien word, not used to saying it out loud yet. He can’t bring himself to look this poor woman in the eye anymore; she must be thinking he’s a stuttering, egotistical fool.

 

God, he wishes Phil were here. He’s so good with… people.

 

He’d have charmed the socks off this woman by now. Too bad, Dan thinks with a suppressed sigh. Today, he’s all Kayleigh has got.

 

“We’re getting married.” Dan tells her unnecessarily. “I mean, obviously.” Dan rolls his eyes at himself. “I like… proposed and stuff already, but… I didn’t have a ring, so…”

 

Kayleigh looks confused, somewhat understandably. “I… see.”

 

It’s obvious that she doesn’t, though. It’s not exactly the way things are conventionally done, after all, to propose without a goddamn ring.

 

What this poor shop assistant is not aware of, of course, is that Dan and Phil are far from conventional in every sense. Neither one of them could claim to be exactly ‘ordinary’ in any aspect of their lives. And as for their relationship as a couple – well, that’s about as far from conventional as one could probably get.

 

“So you’re after a ring because…?” Kayleigh asks, and Dan is at a loss for an answer.

 

She doesn’t seem to be asking in a rude way, she genuinely seems not to understand why Dan is standing here, in front of the ring cabinet in her shop, when he’s already got his partner locked down without one.

 

And the thing is, she’s right.

 

The more Dan considers her question, the less it makes sense to him why the heck he’s even here right now. This place is so un-Phil. Everything is old and historic, with no life or colour.

 

Yes, the vast majority of the rings in this cabinet are sparkly and pretty, but none of them stand out amongst the rest. As Dan peers at the thin, white-gold bands clasping big, boisterous diamonds and other jewels, he keeps trying to picture them on Phil’s lovely, untarnished, slender ring finger.

 

And he just can’t see it.

 

He’s sure that if he bought one of these hideously expensive gems, that Phil would wear it no question, because he loves Dan so much that he’d wear a goddamn Viking helmet on their wedding day if Dan expressed a want for it.

 

But he can feel, right here, in this dusty, aged room filled with expensive trinkets Phil would easily sweep right past on his way to purchase a garish £5 Totoro coin purse, that this is just not right.

 

He’d been right before, when thinking that this well-meaning but unfortunately clueless lady before him just doesn’t – and will never – understand that Dan and Phil are simply unconventional.

 

There’s absolutely no point in Dan trying to recruit her assistance, learned as she probably is about the subject of engagement rings, because she will never be able to find him anything that would actually make sense for him to present to Phil as a statement of his love.

 

“You know what…” Dan answers her eventually, feeling the anxiety drip out of his shoulders as the immense pressure of actually choosing one of these things is lifted from him. “I have no idea.”

 

He laughs, and after a moment of looking bewildered, she joins in politely.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dan says after a moment. “I didn’t mean to waste your time it’s just… I think this isn’t quite the thing for… us.”

 

“Oh,” Kayleigh says, nodding. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. Is there… anything else I could help you with today?”

 

Dan’s about to shake his head when something catches his attention from the corner of the room. He turns to look at it, tilting his head to one side as his mind runs a mile a minute, sorting out a vague plan.

 

He walks over to the piano in the corner, sweeping his hand over the dusty lid, marvelling at the gorgeous, deep mahogany from which it's carved. 

 

“Actually,” he asks, looking back over towards a now very perplexed young woman, “you don’t know of a good piano tuner, do you?”

 

* * *

 

10am

 

Something has been forgotten, Dan is sure. He always feels like he’s left something vital behind when he leaves the flat for some big event, but today the sense of general _missing_ is practically overwhelming.

 

He knows it’s just his anxiety acting up, and that even if he had forgotten something it wouldn’t matter, because he’s here, in the backseat of the taxi beside Phil, and they only really need each other.

 

Trying to tell his stupid brain this, however, is not proving to be all that easy.

 

So, Dan reaches across the black leather seat and takes hold of Phil’s hand, squeezing it. Phil turns from the window to smile at him, squeezing back.

 

“We’re almost there.” He says, breathless with excitement.

 

Dan feels his heart palpitating a little, and forces a smile in return. “Cool.”

 

The taxi pulls to a stop, and Phil lets go of Dan’s hand to hop out, almost skipping round to the boot of the car, where they put their change of outfits.

 

Dan stares out of his window at the great white building they’re parked outside, trying not to think of it as imposing or scary. It’s actually rather pretty in a simplistic sense, with high, arched windows and a large clock on the front above the words ‘Hackney Town Hall’. There are stone steps leading up to the entrance, and an enormous cobbled courtyard, in which the taxi currently idles.

 

Dan takes a deep breath in, trying to summon up the courage to open the car door, when it suddenly opens for him. He looks up, surprised, to find Phil’s smiling face peering back at him through the doorway.

 

“Sorry, your majesty,” Phil jokes, chuckling a little. He has two of those dry cleaning protector bags slung over one arm. “Didn’t realise I’d be needing to open doors for you now.”

 

Dan laughs with him, his nerves quieting as they always do in the face of Phil’s easy, happy aura. “Yep, that’s part of the deal, Phil.” Dan jokes back, taking a deep breath as he climbs out into the light of day. “Should’ve read the fine print.”

 

Phil slams the door shut behind him, then steps close to Dan. A little too close to be considered entirely platonic, probably, considering they’re in public, in broad daylight. Dan doesn’t comment, however.

 

“I haven’t signed anything yet.” Phil says with a smirk.

 

“Haven’t got long to make your amendments to the contract.” Dan says, feeling a little dizzy with Phil's unexpected proximity all of a sudden.

 

Phil just moves closer still, crowding him against the car because he's a little shit and he knows exactly how it's affecting Dan. The look on his face is warming Dan's cheeks, and he feels a flutter of excitement in his belly, wondering if Phil might actually swoop in and kiss him right now, and if it would be thrilling or terrifying for him to do that here, in public, with so many people around. 

 

The heat of Phil's body is ridiculous; Dan shouldn't be so attuned to it. He has no idea, suddenly, how he ever managed to suppress the urge to do things with Phil for such long, extended periods of time. It's been two weeks since they last got physical with one another (upon Phil's suggestion), and Dan feels desperate enough to fall to his knees right here in the courtyard of the Town Hall. 

 

 _"It'll make the wedding night more special if we hold out for it,"_ Phil had said, sniggering at Dan's horrified reaction to the idea. 

 

 _"Phil, we're getting married,"_ Dan had protested _, "isn't the point of that that we don't have to hold out anymore?"_

 

_"Dan, if I can hold out for six months every year for seven years, you can wait two weeks."_

 

That had, for obvious reasons, ended the discussion. 

 

All of a sudden, Phil steps away, holding out one of the dry cleaning bags to Dan, which he takes, a little shakily.

 

“Hm, true.” Phil replies with a smile, referring to Dan's earlier banter. “Guess I’ll just have to live with treating you like royalty for the rest of our days.”

 

Dan laughs, still feeling sort of delirious from the supercharged energy sparking between them a moment ago. He avoids Phil's eye for the sake of his own sanity, choosing instead to head for the steps of the Town Hall, Phil following at his side.

  

 

As soon as they’re through the entrance, Martyn Lester is accosting them. He strides over the tiled floor with a determined yet flustered air about him, totally blindsiding Dan, who had been busy marvelling at the architecture.

 

Phil engulfs him in a hug immediately, which Martyn returns, but seems to want to keep fairly brief. When Phil releases him, Martyn takes a hasty step back, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket and his yellow bowtie. Dan’s eyes struggle to drink in the sight of him dressed this way, but he politely leans in to hug Martyn nonetheless.

 

“You made it!” Phil exclaims happily.

 

“Yeah,” Martyn replies, eyes darting between Phil and Dan with a modicum of nervous confusion. “Tuxedo on the tube. Not something I’ve done before, but definitely an experience.”

 

Phil laughs at the weak joke, and Dan smiles at him. Something’s a little off with he and Martyn, still. Ever since the Incident™ that ended with him in hospital, things have been a little strained. Nothing was improved over the course of the US tour, though they managed to at least be civil to one another. There had been that whole debacle where Dan freaked out over Phil getting sick too, and that certainly hadn't helped anything.

 

It's not like Dan and Martyn have ever been  _close_ , but they at least used to get on fairly well. Now there’s an elephant of sizeable proportions lingering in the space between them whenever they’re in the same room. Their eyes meet as their short hug ends, and they both quickly drag their gaze away, as though they can’t bear to linger on one another’s stare.

 

Dan wishes he could fix things with Martyn, but he doesn’t really know how. He did something to Phil which, for Martyn, was probably very near unforgivable. It’s the same with PJ – Dan has done irreparable damage, and it can’t be undone. It can only be treated and soothed with things like patience, kindness, gracious acts, and time.

 

Maybe one day, Dan and Martyn's elephant will wander away. 

 

“So, I’m guessing you guys have changes of clothes in those bags…” Martyn says, raising one eyebrow as he looks down at the sacks folded over their arms.

 

“Nah, we thought we’d stroll in as we are.” Phil jokes, grinning; Dan snorts at him.

 

“Yeah, they’ll love me waltzing up the aisle in my unwashed jeans with the hole in the crotch.” Dan says, smirking at Phil.

 

Martyn laughs, but there’s a look of something like disbelief in his eyes as he stares at Dan.

 

“Any ideas where we can go and change?” Phil asks Martyn, looking around the large, pretty room with all its various doors and corridors leading off it.

 

“Yeah, I was talking to the event organiser lady before you guys got here,” Martyn says, looking round for this mysterious woman. “She actually said things are running kind of late today…”

 

Dan tunes out at this point, deciding that Phil and Martyn are capable of dealing with something as simple as finding a place for them to change without his help. He turns on the spot, swallowing as he drinks in the beautiful interior of this big, ornate room.

 

When he walks out of this building again, he’ll be married.

 

The thought is so astounding that it makes his head spin. When he turns back towards Phil and Martyn, he’s surprised to see that they are now joined by a third person. A woman. 

 

“…so, as a result of all the scheduling conflicts, I’m afraid we’ve had to push your ceremony back a couple of hours.” This woman says in a nervous voice, as though expecting someone to yell at her for bestowing this news. “We’re terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

 

“That’s okay.” Phil says happily, ever the amiable spirit. “Gives me more time to squeeze out the bathroom window and sprint off into the horizon.”

 

It takes a few moments for Dan to register what Phil just said, but when it sinks in, he shoves him in the shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Dick.”

 

Phil laughs, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, and then leans in towards Dan a little, rolling his eyes. “Come on, as _if_.”

 

Mortifyingly, Dan finds that this makes him blush, so he pretends he has been struck with a sudden coughing fit in order to hide his face in his hands.

 

He can practically _hear_ all the smug smirking Phil’s doing in response.

 

“Anyway, so if you’re happy to wait, I’ll take you to your rooms so you can change and relax for a while before the ceremony-”

 

“Wait,” Dan interrupts the woman, his coughing fit forgotten as he is suddenly struck by something sharp and cold radiating in the centre of his back. “Did you say _rooms_? With an ‘s’?”

 

“Two rooms, Dan,” Martyn says slowly, facing Dan with a look of perplexity. “One for each of you.”

 

“Yes, it’s standard policy…” The woman explains, her fingers fumbling with her lanyard nervously. “With weddings, anyway. It’s a traditional practice for the bride and groom or… groom and groom in this case, to enter separately.”

 

“Traditionally you’re not even supposed to _see_ them before the wedding,” Phil pipes up, his voice far too peppy for Dan's mentally fragile state right now. He places his hands lightly over Dan’s eyes. “Say goodbye to my handsome smile for a few hours, Danny.”

 

Then there are brief lips on his, lots of chuckling and scuffling about, and when Dan is once again able to see, Phil is walking off into the distance with a hunched old lady with a blue rinse perm, also wearing a lanyard.

 

The woman who had been speaking with them is still next to Dan, smiling at him nervously. Her lipstick is an ugly shade of brown; it’s not at all pleasing to the eye.

 

“So, ready to see where you’ll be waiting?” The woman asks, her brown mouth stretching across her face in a semblance of a smile.

 

Dan feels like he’s about to be sick all over the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

There is a fantasy version of Dan Howell that exists in his mind. He is effortlessly witty, incredibly sharp and knowledgeable, with a high-functioning, logical brain and quick reflexes. The fantasy-Dan is approachable, but effortlessly cool and edgy to behold. He is a fashion icon, with impeccable taste. He is confident, and most importantly, incredibly brave.

 

The trouble with this fantasy is that it has, to date, only ever existed in Dan's mind. He can visualise himself this way, as his ideal self, but these traits he covets rarely emerge in his actual self. They're buried under layers of insecurity and fear of consequence. Perhaps one day, fantasy Dan could exist in the real world, but as of today, he is still locked up tight in Dan's cruel, masochistic mind.

 

It's inconvenient, because there are times - like right fucking now - where Dan would love to be ten times as witty, or self assured, or courageous. If he could just find a little bit more of a spine, that would be very helpful at present. If it were up to Dan, he'd be able to pluck a brave face from the pile within him, and plaster it onto his face so that Phil might be less afraid.

 

Because seeing Phil scared is so unusual that it's unsettling. It's so rare for Phil to feel actual fear, or at least in the way Dan does. Where Dan is weak, jumpy and brimming with ridiculous phobias, Phil is a calm, immoveable rock. He is the perfect support upon which Dan can rest, because he doesn't allow himself to dwell on the negatives, and so doesn't let fears take root. 

 

Pranking him is easier. He's still jumpy and giggly - the perfect recipient of any trick Dan might play on him, but underneath his childlike reaction to silly, transient jokes, he's incredibly tough. For example, he’s way better with horror films than Dan. Nothing phases him, be it gore, psychological twists, eerie monsters… Sure, he might let out a shriek and a giggle, but once the film has ended, he just switches off the screen, picks up his coffee mug and heads off to bed.

 

Humming away, the horror forgotten.

 

Dan, in comparison, is unable to shake free of the horror for hours after the film is over. Sleep is usually off the cards, as his brain loves to plague him with ‘what if’s’ and hypothetical scenarios of terror involving whatever monster or serial killer he’s just watched a film about.

 

If you asked Dan to think of something that _actually_ scares Phil, not just creeps him out like horses or the deep sea, he’d be a little stumped. Phil is just not the type of person that Dan would ever consider as cautious or fearful or cowardly.

 

He’s a strong individual, and he’s always been the thing that helps Dan feel better if ever he gets scared.

 

Now however, the fear on Phil’s face is all too real. What’s worse is that it’s not irrational. He and Dan are strapped into a carriage on the Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster at Disney World. A carriage that is currently teetering on the edge of a vertical drop.

 

So far, Dan’s fantastic idea to help calm Phil’s nerves, or at least distract him from the eighty foot drop to his left, has been to film their plight on his phone. He’d thought for a brief moment that perhaps filming the situation could put a light hearted spin on it, and make it seem more like a funny anecdote in the making rather than an actually terrifying situation.

 

It hadn’t worked. Phil had been so obviously petrified that he’d only been able to say two words aloud.

 

So now, Dan is unsure of how to help him. Mainly because he’s terrified as well, though he’s trying very hard not to let this show.

 

“Okay folks, looks like there’s some sort of technical hitch with the ride,” a woman in a red vest on the rickety platform to their side calls out, her voice absurdly peppy. “We’re going to have to ask you to vacate the carriage.”

 

“Oh my God,” Phil breathes, sounding horrified. “Are they serious?”

 

Until now, Dan has been trying not focus on how high up they are, but he can’t stop his sadistic brain from glancing over at the gaping, dark void stretching into nothing right by the edge of Phil’s side of the carriage.

 

He can’t deny that the woman’s words, cheerily spoken though they are, are not exactly comforting.

 

“It’ll be ok,” Dan says despite the swarms of butterflies furiously pounding about in his gut. He prays that Phil can’t hear the tremor in his voice. “They know what they’re doing.”

 

“This is literally the plot of Final Destination 3!” Someone behind them shouts, and Dan swallows some pretty nasty curse words he’d love to shout back to the fucker.

 

“Oh, God,” Phil says, sounding petrified.

 

“Don’t listen to that idiot,” Dan scoffs in a low voice, “Final Destination isn’t real. That doesn’t happen in real life. We aren’t gonna die on the fucking Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster.”

 

“Well, I’m not getting out.” Phil says firmly, and Dan turns his head to look at his friend, bewildered in the face of this declaration.

 

“Phil, we have to.” Dan says, stating the obvious.

 

“No we don’t.” Phil counters, sounding way too sure of himself for someone who is speaking out of pure fear. “They’re just saying we do because it’ll take ages for them to get the ride going again. I’m more than happy to wait right here until that happens. I’d much rather do that than risk my clown-feet clumsiness trying to crawl out of this death trap.”

 

Dan stares at him dumbly, mouth hanging open. He is at a total loss for what to do in this situation. “You cannot be serious.”

 

The look Phil gives him as he turns to face Dan would suggest that he is, in fact, deadly serious.

 

“Okay folks, listen to me very carefully.” The ride attendant is shouting; Dan swivels to face her for a moment. “In a minute or so, your harnesses are going to open. Don’t worry, it’s not due to the fault. We have complete control. The brakes are on, and the carriage is not going anywhere. As soon as your harness is open, please carefully start to edge your way over to the platform one at a time. My team and I will be there to help you across. Stay calm, and let’s do this in an orderly fashion.”

 

Despite the warning, Dan is simply not prepared for the moment his harness springs upwards, exposing him to the drop surrounding them.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dan hisses, panicked despite his attempts to stay calm for his friend.

 

“Christ, this is not happening,” Phil mumbles, presumably to himself more than anyone else.

 

Dan turns to face Phil again, who now has his eyes screwed shut, the back of his head pressed firmly against the seat.

 

The look of total terror paralysing Phil this way heaves something primal and instinctual from inside of Dan, and he swallows his own fear, now utterly laser focused on Phil’s.

 

He’s going to get them through this.

 

“Hey,” Dan says softly, reaching over to place a hand over Phil’s balled up fist, which rests on one of his knees. “Hey, Phil, look at me.”

 

Somehow, for whatever reason, Phil obeys this command, blinking his eyes open slowly until they’re gazing into Dan’s. Seeing even the sliver of ice blue peeking out at him is enough to whisk everything else from Dan’s crazy, hyperactive mind.

 

He forgets the rollercoaster, its attendants, all the other riders beginning to clamber awkwardly out onto the platform at the side. It’s just he and Phil, right here, beside one another, and Phil needs him for once, not the other way around.

 

He tries to think of what Phil might do in this situation, if the tables were turned, and Dan was the one freaking out instead. It helps a little, because Phil is always so on top of things. Dan trusts him completely to know what to do in the event of something bad happening.

 

“Look, Phil, I know this is fucking crazy and terrifying,” Dan tells him in a voice as reassuring as he can get it, “but it’s going to be fine. We have to get out of the carriage so they can fix it.” Phil pulls his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it to and fro. “It’s gonna be pretty scary for a second when we stand up, but look,” Dan slides his hand under Phil’s fist, working his fingers apart until their hands are linked. He smiles at Phil, trying with all his might to make keep his expression calm and sure. “You can hold my hand, okay? We’ll do it together.”

 

Slowly, Phil tilts his head down to look at their joined hands, swallowing thickly.

 

He raises his eyes to look at Dan again after a moment, and nods, not saying a word.

 

“So, I’m gonna stand up first.” Dan tells him, feeling eerily calm all of a sudden as he starts to raise his bum from the seat. He keeps his hand firmly locked with Phil’s, never breaking eye contact. “Okay, your turn.”

 

Phil doesn’t move. He glances to the left again, eyeing that horrendous drop.

 

Dan squeezes his hand to pull his attention back. “Phil, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

 

He surprises himself with the firmness of his tone. He sounds way more sure of himself than he thought he was, but somehow he knows that the only reason he’s even able to get onto his feet right now is because Phil is in moderate danger.

 

If Phil were to actually be at risk of peril, Dan is pretty sure the adrenaline would surge through him so forcefully that he’d willingly dive off the side of this carriage to save Phil if he had to.

 

Then, in a small, timid voice, Phil says: “But what if something happens to you?”

 

Suddenly, the world shifts around Dan, realigning itself into something other, something that makes perfect sense in line with the Phil he knows.

 

Phil’s fear isn’t for himself, it’s born of concern for someone else.

 

For Dan.

 

Instead of dwelling on how utterly ridiculous this is, Dan decides it’s best to just roll with it. Knowing the root of Phil’s anxiety will make it far easier to tackle it, and thus get them off this rollercoaster faster.

 

So, Dan gazes down at Phil with a soft smile. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, because I’ve got you.”

 

Phil blinks at him, stunned by this response. Shockingly, it apparently seems to work.

 

The next thing Dan knows, Phil is easing himself up out of the seat, his hand gripping Dan’s so hard it might as well be in a clamp. He edges towards Dan in teeny doll steps, his other arm stretched out wide for balance.

 

It takes some shuffling, and some painstakingly slow edging to the side of the carriage, but eventually Dan makes the step across the gap between the carriage and the platform, helped by the bubbly woman who had made all the announcements.

 

She tries to help Phil, but Dan practically elbows her out of the way in order to keep their hands clasped together as Phil jumps across.

 

Stood on the platform together, safe but shaken, they look into one another’s eyes. Phil looks away, clearly embarrassed by how he’d acted.

 

“Well that’ll make a good YouTube video.” Dan jokes, pulling his damp hand out of Phil’s at last.

 

Phil quirks a vague smile, turning away from him.

 

There’s still a fierce urge roiling inside of him to protect Phil, to make him feel safe and calm. Dan tries so hard to pull out another perfect one-liner for Phil that will make everything okay, but he can’t think of a single word to say.

 

Things had gotten strange and emotional for a moment in the carriage. Dan is still reeling from the after effects of realising the extent of how deeply he cares for Phil, of considering the sacrifices he’d make for the man.

 

Who knows what Phil must think of Dan’s behaviour just now? He’s been buffeted about on the unpredictable waves of Dan’s affection for years, but it must be so hard for him to bear.

 

So, fearing that any attempt at apologising or explaining himself would only make things worse, Dan stays quiet, listening to the instructions of the attendant as she chirps them out for the crowd.

 

Phil doesn’t say anything more until they’re back on the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

12pm

 

This suit jacket is too small.

 

Not noticeably – the buttons don’t strain or anything telling like that, it’s just vaguely uncomfortable to wear. Dan’s arm movements are restricted, and if he has it closed, the waist digs into his middle, suffocating him.

 

Dan has unbuttoned the suit jacket at this point, as well as the top of the shirt beneath. His thin, black tie is undone, hanging over his chest like a limp snake, reminding Dan a lot of his own spine.

 

He’s sat on a cream armchair, perched on the edge, his head in his hands. His palms are clammy, and his windpipe feels seconds away from sealing itself shut. He’s a fucking mess, in other words, and it’s all because of that stupid administrator woman and her light-hearted banter about ‘tradition’ that Phil went ahead and licked up so eagerly Dan didn’t even get to express an opinion.

 

He wishes more than anything that he wasn’t like this. It feels traitorous to be having any sort of doubt right now, no matter how messed up he is mentally.

 

Because he knows, of _course_ he knows, that he wants to marry Phil more than anything. He’s certain of it. He wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t absolutely sure that this was the best thing for him. For both of them.

 

But his brain doesn’t listen to reason, and is instead choosing to dwell on the more negative aspects of marriage.

 

Dan has never been any good with commitment of any sort, and this is without a doubt the biggest commitment he will ever make. He’s so scared of his own mental illness forcing him to sabotage this lifelong promise to Phil somehow.

 

Sure, Dan has every intention to love Phil and only Phil forever. He has learned, finally, that Phil is the only person who can ever make him happy, and that nothing else will begin to compare.

 

But he’s terrified.

 

What if, in the course of their married years, Phil finally starts to disillusion himself, and realises at last that Dan is simply not worth the investment of time, heartache and misery he’s put in? What if he falls out of love with Dan at some point, and leaves? What if, even by giving Phil literally all that he has to give, Dan won’t be enough to keep him?

 

Or even worse, what if Dan, plagued by intrusive, aggressive thoughts, fucks everything up somehow? What if he starts to feel trapped, or finds out that marriage is too difficult? What if he acts out and does something reckless and stupid – maybe drinking again, or something worse?

 

What if this all falls apart spectacularly from the moment they say ‘I do’, just like their last pact did?

 

_Knock, knock, knock._

Dan sits bolt upright, flummoxed by the noise. He stares at the closed door of this room, perplexed at who could be on the other side.

 

“Uh, yes?”

 

“Dan?” The voice sounds familiar, though Dan can’t quite place it, given his addled state.

 

He stands up, shakily, and walks across the room, running a hand through his damp hair. He can feel it starting to curl, but he can’t do anything about that now. He didn’t exactly think to bring straighteners with him.

 

He opens the door, vaguely concerned, and his mouth falls open a little in surprise.

 

A young man stands there, looking polished and streamlined in his sleek black suit. His hair is lighter, and he’s embraced his curls in a way Dan has been seriously considering for some time. The look sits well on him. Dan wonders when it was that Adrian shrugged off his hardcore-death-metal-emo phase, or if maybe it happened so gradually that Dan hadn’t even noticed, like a snake slowly shedding its skin. Not that Dan is around him often enough to see the change, he supposes.

 

All Dan knows is that somehow, there’s a lanky, sweet looking young man in front of him, wearing a sardonic smile and a smattering of freckles. And impossibly, this young man is his brother.

 

“Fuck,” is all Dan can think of to say.

 

His mind is a swirling vortex of questions.

 

Adrian snorts at him, one eyebrow raised. “Hi?”

 

There’s a moment of pause then where Dan wonders if they’ll hug, but despite the softening of Adrian’s appearance, neither he nor Dan actually make the move to do it.

 

There’s a lot between them, still. Dan hasn’t seen him since the hospital all that time ago. Last Christmas, Adrian had been travelling in Thailand with his girlfriend.

 

“Um,” Adrian says to break the silence, discomfort beginning to show on his face as the silence stretches on. “So, is it cool that I hang out with you in here, or…?" He pauses, glancing past Dan's head into the empty room. "I asked some lady and she said you were just chilling in here until they called you-”

 

“You came,” Dan breathes in astonishment, interrupting Adrian’s ramble. “You really came.”

 

“Uh, you invited me…” Adrian says unsurely.

 

Dan laughs a little. “I know, but… I dunno, I guess I didn’t think you’d actually…” Dan trails off, chastened by the frown pulling the corners of his brother’s mouth. “It’s just, last time I saw you we weren’t exactly… on great terms.”

 

Adrian looks straight into Dan’s eyes, his expression familiarly withering.

 

“It’s your _wedding day_ , Dan.” He scoffs, shaking his head like Dan’s an idiot. Seeing it makes Dan want to lift him into his arms, and he laughs, abashed. “Besides… the fact you’re actually doing this makes me think you’ve finally pulled your head out of your ass.”

 

There aren’t words in the English language that Dan can think of that could properly express how much it means that Adrian is here right now. If Dan tried to tell him, he’d more than likely come off as a complete sap and only end up mortifying them both.

 

“Let’s hope.” Dan says instead, beaming at his brother. Something niggles at the back of his mind though, sullying this happy moment with a terrifying thought. “Um, you didn’t tell mum and dad, did you?”

 

Adrian rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Yes, Dan,” he says, voice dripping with sarcastic derision. “When I noticed how you took extreme measures to only invite me and not so much as mention it to them, I took that as a massive hint that you wanted me to bring them along. They’re waiting in the car right now!”

 

Dan shoves him lightly in the shoulder. “Alright, alright. I don’t know, do I?”

 

Adrian rolls his eyes again, though he’s smirking a little as he finally pushes past Dan into the room. He walks over to the window seat at once, plopping down onto it with a grace that Dan has never possessed. He’s like Dan 2.0, Dan considers, smiling at the sight of him. He’s all the bits of himself that he liked the most. All the charisma and the charming, pretty looks. The sharp wit, the endearing sarcasm, the musical talent.

 

Their mum will _not_ stop raving about Adrian’s achievements in guitar. Dan is obviously impressed, but he's a little jealous too, honestly. He'll forever be the un-gifted son in the shadow of Adrian's  _actual_ talent. Hashing out his favourite songs badly on the piano through a process of trial and error is hardly in the same category. 

 

But he is proud, too. Adrian has something of his own now, something he loves and is good at. 

 

Adrian turns to him, looking troubled. “So, why didn’t you want them here, out of interest?”

 

Dan sighs, plummeting back into the present conversation as he shuts the door of this claustrophobic room. He’s more than grateful for Adrian’s unexpected arrival, truly, as at the moment it’s doing wonders at distracting him from all the crippling fear. But this is a conversation he just didn’t think he’d have to have today. It’s not exactly an easy thing to explain to anyone, why he doesn’t want his own parents to attend his wedding.

 

And Adrian isn’t just anyone. They’re his parents too, after all.

 

“I just… I didn’t want to deal with them today.” Dan says, waves of guilt lapping at his toes. “They’d be so bewildered by it. I’ve never even told them me and Phil are together.”

 

Adrian nods, squinting at Dan. “Are you sure?”

 

Dan blinks at him, going over what he just said. “Um, yeah. I think I’d remember.”

 

Adrian rolls his eyes for what seems like the hundredth time. “No, I mean are you sure they’d be shocked?”

 

Dan stares at him in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

 

“Well, they’re not stupid, Dan.” Adrian says, shrugging. “If it’s obvious to, like, _millions_ of people that something’s happening between you and Phil, don’t you think it’s going to be obvious to them too?”

 

“Have they said something?” Dan asks, suddenly panicked.

 

“Not really.” Adrian shrugs, sounding vague. “But they never mention you on your own anymore. It’s always, ‘what’s Dan up to this weekend?’, ‘oh, _they’re_ going to that event.’”

 

Dan nods slowly, not really sure how to deal with this information. “So you think they probably know about me and Phil on some level, but they’re choosing… not to say?”

 

“They’re probably waiting for you to announce it, to be honest.” Adrian replies, sounding very nonchalant about the whole thing. “Or maybe they think you’re never going to admit to it.”

 

“I will tell them.” Dan assures him, sounding firm. “They deserve to know. I mean, their son is going to be _married_ after today.” Dan swallows, the fear from earlier starting to creep back towards him from the shadowy corners of the room. “They should know something like that.”

 

“Yeah, well just don’t expect them to be model parents when you dole out the news.” Adrian warns, chuckling humourlessly. “They’ve never been good at handling stuff like that.”

 

“Our parents?” Dan jokes, his voice taking on a mock tone of disbelief. “Not knowing how to deal with things and bottling them up until their children become repressed social outcasts with buckets of insecurity? Never.”

 

Adrian laughs for a good fifteen seconds, nodding in agreement. He sighs after a while, looking resigned and wistful as he stares out of the condensing window pane.

 

“I was wondering who I could blame for all that.” Adrian jokes weakly, though it comes out with an air of despondence.

 

It’s an off-handed comment, and probably not meant to instil any sort of concern, or even prompt a question, but it chills Dan to his core. He’s never stopped to consider that the mental problems that have affected him throughout his young adulthood might be affecting Adrian as well. But it does make sense.

 

For a moment, he’s so plagued by concern for his brother, trying to imagine what negative thoughts might be rattling around in Adrian’s head, making him so angry and snide and miserable for so much of his teenhood, that he forgets about the wedding altogether.

 

“Hey, Dan,” Adrian says, breaking Dan out of these worrying thoughts. His little brother is sitting up a little straighter now, staring at him with a look of vague concern. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you look, um… kind of shit.”

 

Dan snorts, flopping back into the cream armchair he’d been sat in before. “Thanks. Just what the bride loves to hear on her big day.”

 

“Are you okay?” Adrian asks, ignoring him. “Is it worrying you, all this?”

 

Dan considers telling Adrian everything. He wonders whether, now that he’s learned that Adrian and he share what is apparently a genetic tendency to have a fucked up brain, Adrian would understand and sympathise.

 

But that hadn’t happened last time Dan had told Adrian how he felt about Phil.

 

Adrian had shouted at him, had told him he was pathetic and damaging. He’d forced Dan to confront his own worst fear, and to do what was right for Phil. It had been the best thing for everyone involved, obviously, but Dan doesn’t think he has the emotional stability to go through that kink of ass-kicking right now.

 

Instead, he just shrugs, trying to take some deep breaths. He avoids Adrian’s eye. “I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

 

“God, you haven’t actually got cold feet, have you?”

 

Dan flicks his eyes to Adrian’s for a moment, then looks away. He shrugs again. “I know I want to marry him.” Dan sighs, his head lolling back against the seat. He grits his teeth. “I know it. But try telling my stupid brain that.”

 

Surprisingly, Adrian doesn’t snap at him with a scornful comment. He doesn’t roll his eyes or sigh heavily or do anything of the sort. He just nods, like he gets it, and turns to draw a star in the mist covering the glass at his side.

 

“Yeah,” Adrian mutters, “I know. My brain doesn’t shut up either.”

 

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He wants to offer words of comfort to his younger brother, suffering with the same shit Dan’s been dealing with his whole life. But he has nothing to give. No advice to offer. Dan’s only ever succeeded in letting his dumb brain screw everything up almost beyond repair.

 

“What usually makes your brain shut up?” Adrian asks after a while.

 

Dan shrugs, trying to think. “Phil, I guess.”

 

“Sickening, but okay.” Adrian says; Dan can hear the smile in his voice. “So imagine he’s here. What would he tell you?”

 

Dan wants to roll his eyes at this whole exercise, at the cliché of it, but he’s so fraught with nerves that he’ll try anything right now, so he closes his eyes, and thinks of Phil’s face. He imagines his warm, kind smile, and the soft trickle of his fingers against Dan’s skin.

 

What would he say, in the face of Dan’s terror?

 

“He’d probably say…” Dan replies, his brow creasing as he tries to summon the imaginary scenario. “That I’m thinking too much again. He’d tell me to climb out of my head and just be here, with him, now.”

 

“That sounds sensible.” Adrian says, sounding encouraging. “What else?”

 

“He’d remind me that he loves me,” Dan says with certainty. Phil tells him this all the time, but especially when Dan is upset or afraid, because he knows hearing it is such a comfort. “And that I make him really happy, and that he’s excited to marry me because even though it’s just a piece of paper, it means that he’s finally able to see us together, happy, for a long, long time.”

 

“He’s right,” Adrian says after a moment. “I know you’re scared it’s not going to last, and that marriage will only make everything messier.”

 

Dan opens his eyes, surprised at Adrian’s ability to hone in on the cause of Dan’s issues with such precision.

 

“But I doubt it.” Adrian continues; Dan notices that the window at his side is now covered in stars. “The hard part is over, I reckon. You had a rough few years because you couldn’t bring yourself to commit, but you got over it. At least, you got over it enough to agree to marry him. You wouldn’t have said yes to him if you weren’t ready to accept that you want forever with him.”

 

Dan is quiet, contemplating Adrian’s words. They do make sense, oddly.

 

Could he possibly be that fortunate, though? He’s never considered the idea that his life might have phases of being really bad and that one day the badness might be over. Can he let himself believe that from here on out, the unlucky and miserable aura that has surrounded his and Phil’s relationship for so long might actually be dissipating?

 

“Actually,” Dan says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “I asked him. He’s the one that said yes.”

 

This news seems to be the most shocking of all to Adrian, who stops drawing stars, and turns to stare at Dan in surprise.

 

“Wow.” He says after a minute or so. “Then you’re more over your commitment issues than I thought.” Adrian smiles at him. “You definitely wouldn’t have asked him if you felt this was a bad idea, Dan. You’re just nervous right now, and the way your brain works is making it seem worse than it is.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Dan groans, badly wanting to place his trust in Adrian, body and soul, but finding it tough. “What if I screw it up? What if I love him to death but it’s not enough to keep him?”

 

“Dan,” Adrian says, sounding near-exasperated. Dan doesn’t blame him in the slightest. “Not to be a dick but… where the fuck else are either of you gonna go?”

 

Dan blinks at him in surprise. “He deserves so much better than me-”

 

“Maybe so.” Adrian says, stunning Dan with his bluntness once again. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of what you did or didn’t do to him. But I do know that even if you did something unspeakably awful, he loves you with every cell in his body. Even if he was pried out of your arms for some reason, he’d never be able to find anyone he could hold up against you that would compare.” Adrian looks heavenward. “I mean, don’t you think that if he could, he’d have done it by now?”

 

Dan shrugs, feeling chastened by Adrian’s words. There’s a blush warming his cheeks from hearing how his little brother views the situation.

 

“I don’t think I need to say aloud that the same obviously goes for you.” Adrian tells him with another scoff. “I mean, could you actually picture yourself here, in this room, about to marry anyone _but_ him?”

 

Dan’s not expecting the question, and it throws him. He realises, as he considers it, that – somewhat embarrassingly – the only person he’s ever genuinely considered marrying in his entire life is Phil. There has been no other person that has held his interest for long enough that he’s entertained the idea.

 

He shakes his head, still a little stunned by the revelation.

 

“It’s okay to be nervous, Dan.” Adrian says soothingly, giving out another rare smile. “I think everyone gets nervous before getting married. Forever’s just a really long time to promise to someone.”

 

“I bet Phil’s not nervous.” Dan mumbles, irritated by the thought. He can practically picture Phil skipping around the room, all dapper and handsome in his nice, new-ish suit, laughing and joking with Martyn.

 

“Remember what I said a second ago?” Adrian asks, one eyebrow raised. “About him being so madly in love with you that it’s kind of scary?”

 

Dan chuckles, nodding. “I guess that probably keeps the nerves at bay.”

 

“He’s probably thinking he hit the jackpot.” Adrian agrees, grinning.

 

“What a fucking idiot.” Dan says, laughing.

 

“Total headcase.” Adrian agrees, joining in. “So, go on then you massive sap. Tell me how you proposed.”

 

Dan groans, standing up to walk over to the mirror. Miraculously, he’s stopped sweating now, but he removes his suit jacket anyway, wanting to cool off before he’s summoned in.

 

Dan sighs, starting to tighten the knot of his tie. “Which time?”

 

* * *

 

 

If life were a little bit kinder, Dan would have liked to propose to Phil (properly) on the Manchester Eye.

 

As it is, largely due to the dismissive words from Mr Tony Wilson – one of Manchester’s most prominent and notoriously outspoken public figures – the eye was demolished in 2012. At the time, the destruction of this icon that had played such an integral part in Dan and Phil’s beginning had seemed rather symbolic of their relationship’s inevitable decline.

 

Dan remembers seeing the article about the eye being destroyed at the time, but he’d purposefully ignored it, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the significance of it, or admit that it meant anything to him.

 

Phil had tweeted about it in protest, possibly even linked a petition to stop the demolishment. But Dan had just turned a blind eye, somewhat ironically, to the whole affair.

 

Now, upon reflection, he wishes he’d strapped himself to one of the steel pods, preferably the one in which he’d somehow summoned up the courage to lean over and kiss Phil for the first time, and refused to untie himself until Manchester came to its senses.

 

He can’t imagine a more perfect place in which to ask Phil to marry him, but it’s too late now. The opportunity has slipped through Dan’s stupid, floundering fingers, and now he has to think of a plan B.

 

It’s mid-August by the time Dan has it all arranged. By that point their Australian tour is over and done with, and they’re on their way home, stopped off in Hong Kong.

 

Phil thinks it’s a technical hiccup that their flights back to England have been booked for the day after tomorrow, but Dan knows differently. He asked their manager to ensure they had at least one night to stagger out their journey, preferably somewhere exotic.

 

Hong Kong is a better result than he could have hoped for.

 

As Dan stares into Phil’s candle-warmed eyes across a white, marble-top table, he wonders if he’s actually going to be able to get through this, again.

 

“We’re so high,” Phil croaks, clearing his throat and wincing. “Look at all the ant people.”

 

Dan turns his head reluctantly to gaze out of the window; it’s true, they’re extremely far above the miniature streets and buildings sprawled out below them. Hong Kong is an incredible sight to behold from up in their dazzling, opulent tower.

 

Dan turns back to Phil, a smile softening the corners of his mouth. The view is much better inside of this restaurant, right in front of his eyes, in Dan’s opinion.

 

It’s all too clear however, that unfortunately Phil is not currently in agreement with Dan about this. He sighs, digging a tissue out of his trouser pocket and wiping his nose with it before coughing discreetly into his hand.

 

“Ugh,” Phil says once he’s finished, “I’m such a mess.”

 

Dan reaches a hand across the table, taking hold of Phil’s. He smiles at him, winking cheekily. “A hot mess.”

 

Phil gives him a withering look, but he’s blushing beneath his frown. He pulls his hand out from Dan’s however, muttering something about ‘germs’.

 

“Trust me to get sick on the night you book a surprise fancy dinner in Hong Kong,” Phil complains, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry.”

 

Dan wants to laugh, but he stifles it, shaking his head. “What’re you on about, you pleb? It’s not your fault you got sick. No need to apologise.”

 

In truth, Phil’s unexpected bout of lurgy has thrown Dan a little off course. When planning this romantic night out, he hadn’t even considered the idea that he or Phil might not be in tip top health. But that’s his own fault; he knows more than anyone how prone to illness his best friend is. He should have known it was at least a possibility.

 

In any case, despite worrying Dan initially, Phil’s sickness hasn’t been too much of an issue so far. This morning, when Phil woke up complaining of a fever, a cough and other flu-like symptoms, Dan was sure he’d have to cancel everything and abandon the plan in order to tend to him.

 

As it turned out, Dan leaving Phil to get some sleep for a few hours while he wandered the streets looking for a Farfetch’d seemed to do wonders. As did the plethora of peculiar, herbal Chinese remedies Dan brought back for him in a suspicious pharmacy bag.

 

So despite being sniffly and occasionally pausing to cough his lungs up, Phil is doing remarkably well. Sure, it’s not the magical way things could have gone in a perfect world, but Dan has Phil in front of him, here, in this beautiful sky high restaurant in the midst of Hong Kong.

 

Everything is arranged, and he knows what he’s going to say. His stomach is fluttering with nerves, and he can barely sit still on his white leather seat, but he’s going to do it.

 

And it’s going to be wonderful.

 

“Phil, I have something I want to-”

 

“”Your drinks, gentlemen,” a young, Chinese waitress interrupts, setting their cocktails down on the tabletop.

 

“Oooh,” Phil says, his eyes going wide at the sight of the colourful drinks. “Thank you! I mean, um, xièxiè.”

 

The waitress beams and bows her head before scurrying off. Dan tries not to let the disturbance throw him off.

 

“So, I was saying-”

 

“These look incredible.” Phil says, immediately reaching for Dan’s cocktail and lifting it to his mouth.

 

“Um, do you mind?” Dan says, chuckling at him. “What’s wrong with yours?”

 

“Your one looks tastier!” Phil whines, swallowing his mouthful with a giggle. He sniffs and makes a satisfied noise of delight. “Mm, yummy.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, taking his cocktail back from Phil and sipping it; he’s right at least, it is delicious.

 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Phil asks, sipping tentatively at his own drink now.

 

Dan takes a deep breath in, reaching discreetly into his trouser pocket to run his fingers over the folded up sheet of paper; it’s reassuring in a sense, but terrifying too.

 

“So, I kind of… have something for you.” Dan says, fighting his nerves with more alcohol, which he gulps down at frankly alarming speed. “A present.”

 

Phil’s face lights up at the word, just as Dan knew it would. Phil is essentially, in many ways, a large child. Dangle the prospect of sweets or gifts of any sort in front of him and he’ll be too excited to breathe.

 

“Really?” Phil asks happily, reaching under the table to squeeze Dan’s knee very briefly. “Because I’m sick? You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“Not because your sick,” Dan says quickly, wanting to make sure Phil understands. He looks over his shoulder to check that everything is in place, managing to catch the eye of a waiter, who gives him a nod and thumbs up.

 

Showtime, quite literally.

 

“I just felt like… I needed to do this properly.” Dan says in a rush, forcing himself to look straight into Phil’s quizzical eyes. “I mean, I know that technically you’ve already said yes but… I didn’t have anything to give you, like a ring or anything, to prove that I actually meant it.”

 

“Dan…” Phil says softly, his voice cracking; Dan suspects it’s not entirely due to his sore throat.

 

Regardless, Dan pushes on, trying not to focus on the way tears are swelling in Phil’s eyes. “So, I went to a ring shop but like… it just wasn’t right, I don’t know how to explain it. I couldn’t see a ring that I actually wanted to give you, or that I felt like you’d really want… so I got you something else.” Dan pulls the sheet of paper out of his trousers, blushing now. “Something a little bit more personal, I hope. That’s the plan, anyway.”

 

Phil’s azure gaze falls to the paper in Dan’s hands, marvelling at it as though it were a shiny diamond all on its own.

 

“W-what are you-” Phil starts to say, before spluttering a confused and ill-timed cough.

 

Dan just smiles in response. “Just… listen. I wrote this for you.”

 

Before Phil can say another word, Dan lifts himself out of the seat and forces himself to leave the table. On second thought, he doubles back and swiftly necks the dregs of his cocktail, before sheepishly giving Phil another smile, and heading for the corner of the room.

 

He’d asked for a table near the piano on purpose when he booked this place, and they haven’t disappointed him.

 

The instrument in question is utterly astonishing. It’s a brilliant white grand piano with gilded gold patterns looping around the intricately carved edges. It feels almost criminal to place the crumpled sheet of paper Dan’s been keeping in pockets and flaps of his suitcase for months onto its music stand, but he has no choice.

 

He’s pretty sure he knows the tune he’s about to play by heart after the millions of times he’s practised, but he’s going to take no chances tonight, what with all the butterflies dancing in the pit of his stomach.

 

He sits at the piano with hesitance, very aware of the eyes falling upon him, and the quieting of the general atmosphere as people begin to notice that he’s about to play.

 

He puts everyone, everything out of his mind as best he can, and focuses on Phil, sat near to him, watching him with an intensity that Dan can feel searing his skin despite not actually meeting his eye.

 

Without a word, Dan gazes at the sheet in front of him, and starts to play.

 

It begins with a rush of vibrant, colourful melody, Phil’s song. Because that’s how Dan knew him in the beginning. He shone brightly, loudly, warmly, even from behind a screen. There was never a tentative, slow build up with Phil. It was an instant plunge into a bubbling stream of vivacious, captivating laughter and madness. An immediate avalanche of beauty and danger and the kind of creativity Dan had never been exposed to in his small town with its small-minded inhabitants.

 

The melody is at times fast and wild, spiralling and twisting together in layers, decorated with trills and flourishes that represent Phil’s most unique and fantastical quirks. At other times it slows, pouring out of the keys like river water dribbles over shining silver rocks on a summer day.

 

These are the parts that remind Dan of how loving Phil feels in an every day sense; safe, warm, infinitely comforting, homely. Curled against him on the sofa late at night, when they’ve lost track of time watching films they’ve seen before. Waking up in his arms each morning, feeling the unconscious movement of Phil’s fingers against his bare skin. Winding a little finger round his in the back of a taxi, just to ground himself, just to know he’s there.

 

At the climax of the song, the melody thins, losing all embellishments until Dan is playing with just one hand, light and careful, picking the notes with precision. It had taken so long to find the ones that, when arranged, sounded like the way Phil speaks, or laughs, or stares at him in that reverent, captivated way of his.

 

Dan has spent hours of his life poring over this tune. It’s short, only a page long, but it’s complex and it’s as close to Phil as he can make it. It’s still not perfect, but Dan has enough awareness of his perfectionist streak to know he could spend his whole life tweaking it before he was satisfied.

 

It’s pretty, and it’s sad, and it’s so happy in parts, so warm and familiar that it makes Dan’s heart hurt a little to hear it, even after so many times. He can’t look up at Phil, he can’t know the reaction just yet, because what if it’s not right? What if Phil likes it, but he doesn’t get it? What if he doesn’t understand?

 

The end is nearing now, and there are only a few more bars left on the page. Dan tries to draw them out, but he can’t switch the tempo or the song will lose its meaning. He wants it to end in a perfect cadence, because that’s the sort of guy Dan is, but he knew when he wrote this song that he couldn’t do it, because his and Phil’s song it far from over.

 

So instead, it just fades, the spaces between the notes becoming fewer and farther between until there’s nothing left but the silence in the middle; Dan’s fingers shake as they hover above the dormant keys.

 

He doesn’t expect the applause.

 

He really doesn’t expect to be kissed so fervently, so tearfully, by the man he loves, scooting himself onto the stool beside him with tears streaming down his face.

 

“Dan, I…” Phil says against his mouth, sounding stricken. “I don’t know what to say. That was… incredible. Beautiful. You wrote it for me?”

 

Dan smiles, kissing him back, shoulders slumping in relief. He didn’t hate it, thank God. “If you were a song.”

 

“Fuck, I…” Phil says, sniffing. “I love you. I really fucking love you, Dan. I... I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Say you’ll marry me?” Dan asks, heart thumping.

 

He’s not sure why it’s so scary to ask, again, considering he’s already gotten the answer.

 

Phil laughs, choking a little on the puff of his own exhale. "Anytime." He whispers, leaning in to touch his forehead to Dan's. "Anytime." 

 

* * *

 

1pm

 

It feels pretend, somehow, standing here. He’s facing Phil, a smartly dressed officiant stood between them with her arms folded in front of her waist. It’s just like every marriage scene Dan has ever seen in a movie or a play, which might be why he feels like he’s standing on his mark right now, waiting on his cue, about to say his lines.

 

Phil is beaming at him, deliriously happy, and it’s actually helping to calm Dan down. He wishes his own brain weren’t attacking him with every reason not to go through with this, because he can’t think of anything better than being married to his best friend.

 

“Dan, would you like to say your vows?” The officiant asks kindly, turning towards him.

 

Dan wishes he could remember her name; she’s so sweet and lovely. He can’t remember much right now, though. His throat feels constricted and tight, and he’s sweating beneath his too-small suit.

 

He finds himself looking to Phil for help, knowing that if he tried to speak right now, only gibberish, or worse, nothing, would come out.

 

And then, because Phil is the perfect man, and the one person who knows Dan inside out, and is, for some ludicrous reason, here, marrying him anyway, he smiles, reaching for Dan’s hand.

 

“I’ll go first.” Phil tells the officiant firmly, taking her by surprise. 

 

She smiles, and makes a ‘go on’ gesture with her hand.

 

“Okay,” Phil says, taking a deep breath in.

 

Instinctively, Dan knows he is not prepared for this; his stomach knots itself twenty times over in anticipation of the vast, impossibly deep ocean of Phil's unwavering love, which is about to crash over him in an enormous tsunami, and drag Dan under the waves. 

 

Privately, Dan suspects that, deep within himself, there is an ocean of his own. He can hear it, sometimes - the lapping of the turbulent waters, the whirlpools whizzing and gurgling as he ponders the impossible marvel of Phil Lester, trying to comprehend him.

 

The difference is, that Dan has spent years avoiding the water. He has tried everything to stay dry, skirting the edges of the sea in his chest, building rickety life rafts of repression and stubborn insistence that the water is purely fantasy. Twice a year, he allowed himself to dip a toe in. Maybe, for an hour or two on his or Phil's birthday, he might wade in up to his ankles, and paddle about at the shore. 

 

Phil, in contrast, has been swimming in the deep for so long that he's drowned several times.

 

Recently, Dan has been getting braver. He's found the strength to wade deeper than he can remember doing for a long time, but he's still only up to his waist. It's nowhere near enough, he knows, because to have any hope of expressing how he feels today, to Phil, he needs to dive right in, headfirst, no looking back. 

 

He holds his breath now, knowing all too well that Phil is already submerged completely. He'll open his soft, pink mouth and the waterfall of his devotion to Dan will pour seamlessly from his clever, eloquent tongue. How is he going to compete with Phil, an expert deep-sea diver, when he's still trying to remember how to swim? 

 

“Well, I have to say, Dan, you don’t make yourself very easy to love.” Phil says, chuckling, and Dan swallows, not having expected him to say that. An unpredicted needle spears itself through his heart, and he finds himself blushing, ducking his head. He hears Adrian, a step behind him, snort with laughter; it doesn't help keep the embarrassment at bay. But then, Phil is speaking again. “I think a lot of people would have thrown in the towel at this point.” Phil squeezes his hand around Dan's, apparently having no intention to release it. “Sadly for you, I am not most people. And I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.”

 

Dan looks up then, his head tilting to one side as the words sink into his skin.

 

“It’s so hard for me to define something like how I feel about you in a few words,” Phil confesses softly, shaking his head like he’s having genuine difficulty. “Some people can take their favourite lyric, or a stanza of a poem and use that in their vows but… even though there are a thousand songs and sonnets that remind me of you, I just couldn't do it. None of them were _right._ None of them said enough of what I want to say to you." Phil sighs, and there's an amused smile teasing his lips. "It'd be much easier if I could just say the speech from When Harry Met Sally, or spout the verse of a Muse song. But something I've realised, lately, is that being in love with you, Dan, isn’t like how it is in films. It's not the same thing you read about in books, or hear in pretty songs, or poems. It’s not even something I’ve ever seen in any other couple, or any other person I've known. It's nothing I've ever felt before, or will ever remotely feel again, I'm sure. Sometimes it’s been the most excruciating, painful test of endurance. It's made me hate myself. I’ve felt obsessive, and clingy; on multiple occasions I’ve felt like I’m actually going insane.”

 

Phil takes a deep breath in; Dan can no longer look at him.

 

Shame, red hot and sickly, burns in his chest over hearing what he’s done to Phil, the sunshine of the world, over the years. What a wicked thing Dan has done, ensnaring this poor man into loving someone so fundamentally unloveable. 

 

He feels fingers under his chin, lightly drawing his face upwards again, until Dan has no choice but to stare into Phil's unwavering, full, bright gaze. It's dizzying to see the emotion hiding in his irises, tucked beneath the glittering green and blue. Dan's eyes rove across them, trying to find the hidden pockets of bitterness and regret, but finds only a deep, pure love, stripped back to its raw, nascent original form.

 

Dan's lungs squeeze and constrict, not knowing how to deal with it.

 

“But loving you is also as effortless for me as breathing.” Phil tells him with sincerity, his shoulders shrugging as the smile begins to stretch across his face. “We can have the worst fight, and say horrible things until we're both crying... but then I make you smile. And there's nothing that feels as amazing as that. Knowing I can make you happy again, still, even at our worst point... it's better than a lungful of air after drowning."

 

Martyn is watching intently from behind Phil, his mouth pressed together as he listens to each word, appearing to be fixated. Dan can't focus on anything. His emotions roar in his chest, spiralling about, bouncing off the walls inside of him, keeping him perpetually unstable.

 

"Watching you create," Phil continues, an air of wistfulness beginning to perfume his words, "or interact with your fans, or ramble about philosophical nonsense that somehow becomes pure genius in your liveshows… those are the moments that I remind myself of how lucky I truly am to have you, in even the smallest way. Seeing you flourish a little more each day is an honour. It’s a privilege. And I don’t take it lightly that you choose to let me.”

 

Tears sting in Dan’s ducts, and he finds his grip tightening around Phil’s hand a little more with each passing second. His whole body feels weakened; he's only ninty percent sure he's going to be able to get through the whole ceremony without falling to Phil's feet.

 

“I know you feel guilty, and worried, because you hurt me,” Phil tells him, his voice low now, soft as he stares straight past the bubble of anxiety surrounding Dan, directly into his soul. “But it’s pointless to be concerned, Dan. Because to me, you're everything. Almost eight years ago, you swung into my life out of nowhere. You knocked me out of orbit so quickly I didn’t get time to see where I was spinning to. You eclipsed the sun, and the moon and every star in the sky, and I couldn’t care less, because you’re brighter and more spectacular than any of them. I could stare at you all day. I could listen to you talk, and nothing else, for the rest of my life. If I had a choice between never seeing you again, and seeing only your face for eternity, I would choose you again and again and again.”

 

“Phil,” Dan whispers in a desperate way, feeling sort of like he's about to collapse. His face is wet with tears now, but he hasn’t the strength to wipe them away.

 

“I don’t care that you hurt me, Dan,” Phil tells him simply, smiling. “If I had to suffer through it all again, I would. Because what matters is that I have you, now. And you’re here, marrying me today. It’s something beyond what I ever could have wished for. It’s a surreal, heavenly version of my life that I was sure I’d never get. After today, each day of my life will be the best one, because I’ll get to spend it married to you.”

 

Oh, God.

 

Dan can’t help the sob that escapes him, and he ducks his head, embarrassed by his own display.

 

How can Phil feel this deeply for him? After all that’s happened? After everything?

 

What has Dan ever done to deserve this?

 

“So, bear, here are my vows.” Phil says, clearing his throat and drawing his shoulders to their full height. “I vow to love you, always, exactly as I do now, for the rest of our lives. On the days when you cannot love yourself, I vow to love you even more. When your mad, gorgeous mind twists around and bullies you into the dark, I vow to haul you out with bad jokes, and kind words, and kisses. I vow to fight your fears so that you don't have to. I vow to be your best friend, your soulmate, your home, your partner and whatever else you need. I vow never to leave you, even if things are so bad that it seems like there’s no way out. I vow to strive to make you happy every day, no matter what.”

 

Phil turns to the officiant, eyes watery, and nods at her, smiling. She has tears in her eyes as well. She nods at him, seeming proud.

 

Phil turns back towards him, and Dan tries in vain to gather himself, though he’s an absolute wreck at this point.

 

“I love you, Dan.” Phil says simply. “I always have. I always, always will.”

 

Dan can’t help himself, he stumbles forwards, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck so tightly it must seem to anyone watching that he's holding on for dear life. He feels Phil’s arms running over his back, even through the layers of his shirt and jacket. It’s heavenly, euphoric even. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, drowning himself in the scent of Phil.

 

“Dan?” The officiant says after a while, reminding Dan of where he is, and that – somewhat strangely – this is not the time for PDA. “I don’t mean to rush you, love, but there’s another ceremony at four…”

 

“Right, right,” Dan says, sniffing as he reluctantly releases Phil. His arms slither from around Phil’s neck, and as Dan takes a step backwards, he sees tear tracks down his best friend’s face. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s all a bit…”

 

Dan flaps his hands in the air, trying to explain what he feels through interpretative dance, apparently.

 

“I know, love.” The officiant says kindly. “Don’t worry, this can all be rather overwhelming for some people.”

 

Dan tries to smile at her, but it probably comes out more as a grimace.

 

“Whenever you’re ready, dear.” She prompts softly, nodding at him.

 

Dan takes a deep breath, and immediately forgets everything he’d been wanting to say. He’s prepared some mental notes, of course, in the run up months. He’s got some topics he wants to hit on, some things to mention – his favourite Phil-things, what today means to him.

 

But he reaches for this trusty treasure chest of information and… it’s sealed tight. Thick, steel shutters barr the way, not allowing Dan access.

 

He panicks, trying to think of what to do, of how to prise the information out of the trickery of his stupid, taunting brain, but it’s no use. He knows it’s futile to wrestle with his own anxiety, and besides – there isn’t time.

 

Instead, he looks straight across, deeply into Phil’s eyes, and decides to wing it.

 

“Okay, here goes,” Dan practically whispers, feeling his fists clench without wanting them to. “I... I must have rewritten these a million times. The amount of notebooks and napkins and half-finished Word documents that exist with drafts of speeches I could make to tell you how I feel..." Dan trails off, his fists clenching again. He huffs a laugh at himself, for being so unprepared, despite his efforts to combat this. "The only thing I worked out, throughout all the rewrites, is that I'm not very good at this. I'm not like you, always knowing what to say to get the point across."

 

Strangely, Dan glances behind himself at Adrian, who sends him an encouraging smile. It helps, a little, though Dan feels like he's already out of his depth here, with no chance of rescue.

 

"I grew up with a family who didn't talk about their feelings." Dan says, turning from Adrian and forcing himself to look Phil in the eye. "You might have noticed that it can be a little difficult to get me to admit certain truths..." Dan jokes, and Phil laughs, thank God. "Because I shove it all down. I repress everything, because it's easier to deal with a void than a swamp of confusing emotions that I never completely control or understand."

  
Phil smiles at him, a tinge of sadness in his expression that Dan can barely stand to look at. He moves on quickly, his heart starting to pick up speed. 

  
"If I tried to list everything I love about you, it would take an eternity," Dan tells him, his throat feeling tight already. "And we only have until four." Phil and the officiant giggle at this, which helps a little to calm Dan's frantic nerves. "It might take me literal years to unearth all the different ways I fell so madly for you at the age of eighteen, because I spent so long burying them, pretending they didn't exist."

 

"It's the worst thing in the world," Dan says, closing his eyes against the sudden rush of pain and guilt that sweeps through his body, "knowing how badly I treated you for all that time. Knowing I can never take it back, or reverse it, or fully heal the scars. You say you forgive me, but I don't think I'll ever really forgive myself."

 

Phil reaches for his hand, and Dan lets him hold it, but doesn't allow himself to stop now he's begun. 

 

"The only good thing that came from caking my heart in a big old icecube, is that each day I wake up with a little more of it melted away," Dan says, taking a deep breath in. "Every time I see you, you're brighter, more vivid, more completely breathtaking than I remember. Basically... I fall in love with you a little bit more every day."

 

Phil's eyes glisten with moisture, and Dan squeezes his hand.

 

"It doesn't make up for any of it," Dan says firmly, his own eyes smarting now. "It doesn't make anything okay. It doesn't even come close to the kind of love you deserve, Phil, and if it weren't for you being so stubborn about this 'loving me and only me' crap, I'd insist you leave me in the dust where I belong and find something ten times better. Someone that wouldn't ever dream of hurting you. Someone that would instantly see everything that makes you wonderful, and wouldn't take eight fucking years to realise how good they've got it." Dan smiles, feeling teary, and Phil shakes his head, smiling too. "But you won't listen to reason, so here we are."  

 

“So," Dan continues, finding it suddenly very difficult to soldier on, "I've despite all my failed drafts, I've got to try and tell you how much it means to me that you said yes to me, that you're here, today, telling me you'll love me forever." Dan shifts from foot to foot, wishing he could loosen his tie. “I'm gonna try and keep it sweet and simple. I knew before I started that your vows would blow mine out of the water anyway, so it’s kind of pointless to try and match your creativity. Just like every day of our lives.”

 

Phil appears pleased by the compliment, but rolls his eyes anyway.

 

“So I'll cut out all the poetic bollocks." He says, smiling wryly. "I won't say anything about your eyes, or how they're the exact colour of the Jamaican ocean in the late afternoon, and how every time I look into them I see you all glistening and tanned, filming me with those awful Xacti underwater cameras." Phil's face softens, and Dan smiles at him for being such a sap. "I won't tell you how your smell is deep and fruity, and my favourite flavour of all time. Or how I can, on a weekly basis, catch a whiff of something that vaguely reminds me of it, and stop dead in my tracks for minutes at a time." Dan sighs, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of Phil's hand. "I won't talk about how you're truly extraordinary, or that I've never met anyone who even remotely compares to you, or how I still wonder whether I'm dreaming, fairly often, when I'm on my own, thinking about our crazy history, and the absurd, wild, love I have for you after all this time." 

 

Dan pauses, trying to gather his violently whirling thoughts, which ricochet off the walls of his skull at a hundred miles per hour, slamming into the lobes of his brain, confusing him.

 

“I have one other thing I want to say.” Dan admits, his voice growing a little quieter now. “I’m sorry.”

 

He meets Phil’s eyes, and forces himself to stay looking as he sees the smile drip off of his best friend’s face. As the stab of remembered pain splinters into his elated expression.

 

“I know you’re going to say I shouldn’t say it, Phil.” Dan tells him thickly, feeling his throat grow tight and clammy. “You’ve told me you forgive me so many times. And I know it’s our wedding day, and it’s supposed to be about our future, and the happy things we’ve got ahead… but that’s why I want to say it. So we can leave it all behind.”

 

Phil swallows, his gaze falling to the floor, somewhere in the vicinity of Dan’s shoes.

 

"So, I'm sorry, Phil. For everything." Dan blinks, and a stray tear falls to his cheek. "I'm sorry, and I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You're the best thing that ever will happen to me. And even though it's not enough, I love you with everything I have." 

 

"I only have one actual vow." Dan says, his voice shaking. Phil lifts his eyes to Dans', and he's crying, so Dan knows he has only seconds before he follows suit. "I vow to try every day to make it up to you, Phil. For the rest of our lives I'll never stop trying. And even when it's over, and we're at the end, I'm still going to love you just as much. More, even. Because being with you, Phil, in any way, at any time, always..." Dan smiles, watery and on the verge of becoming a total mess. "It's the most fun I've ever had." 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re sitting on the floor of their kitchen, each holding a ‘monster pop’ in one hand. Their clothes, along with the counters, tea towels and most of the linoleum tiles are covered with icing sugar, peanut butter, and chocolate.

 

“Roar,” Phil says, making his Frankenstein-pop attack Dan’s Shrek-pop.

 

“Oh my God, 2010 flashbacks.” Dan chuckles, licking a glob of icing from the stick.

 

A lingering hum of pleasure pulses in his veins, leftover from the intense blowjob he just received. He shivers a little with the aftershocks, too shaken to take a full bite of the confection yet.

 

It's his own fault he's in such a state, he's well aware. He'd been intentionally riling Phil up all through the video they'd just filmed, being extra flirtatious, pushing the boundaries of camera-appropriate behaviour. He’d asked the guy to drip peanut butter into his mouth from a spoon for fuck’s sake. The fact that Phil leapt on him and teased the fuck out of him for half an hour on the damn kitchen floor as soon as they switched off the camera is hardly surprising after all that.

 

“You’re the one still making Shrek references.” Phil points out, laughing as he points to Dan’s creation.

 

“Touché.” Dan begrudgingly agrees, twirling the cake pop in his hand to study his Shrek-tacular design. “We really suck at baking.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Phil snorts, holding his Frankenstein-pop aloft with pride.

 

“Phil, these are honestly crap.”

 

“A minute ago you were saying they were _orgasmic_!” Phil objects, and Dan blushes, remembering his cringeworthy attempt at getting Phil horny enough to make out with him mid-video.

 

“Your blowjob skills are the only orgasmic thing in this kitchen.” Dan says, chuckling. “Let’s hope we didn’t film that accidentally.”

 

“The camera could never handle my incredible technique.” Phil sighs happily, leaning back against the cupboards. He flops to the side, resting his head on Dan’s shoulder, obviously exhausted.

 

Dan doesn’t blame him. Somehow, they always manage to film baking videos ridiculously late at night, usually because they put it off too long. Also, they really are just awful at baking, so it takes forever for them to do the simplest recipes.

 

And, well… they’ve been engaging in some other, strenuous activities as well.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks, bobbing Frankenstein under Dan’s nose.

 

“Mm?”

 

“I have an idea.”

 

“Oh, God.”

 

Phil laughs, hitting Dan softly in the arm. “Shut up.”

 

“Go on then, what’s the idea?”

 

There’s a pause, and it does nothing to help Dan feel more optimistic.

 

“Well, don’t freak out,” Phil says, and Dan struggles not to roll his eyes. “But I was thinking about the date of our wedding.”

 

Dan waits for the punch line, feeling very tense all of a sudden. “…Okay.”

 

“I think we should have it in January.” Phil says slowly, tilting Frankenstein forwards to kiss Shrek.

 

Dan smirks, shrugging his shoulder so that Phil’s head bobs up and down.

 

He pushes the Shrek pop back towards Frankenstein. “Sure. Would’ve thought you’d go for a Spring wedding or something.”

 

Phil is silent for a minute, playing with the monster pops. “Mmm. But I like the idea of it being January.” He pauses, seeming to hold his breath. “Like, late January.”

 

Dan stills suddenly, his smile frozen. He lets the cake pop fall to his lap, mind whirling. “How late?”

 

“Thirtieth?”

 

“Phil…”

 

“Hear me out,” Phil says, tilting his face up to look Dan in the eye.

 

“You have to see that’s a terrible idea.” Dan interjects, wondering – not for the first time – what on earth is going on inside Phil’s brain. “We could have it literally any other day.”

 

“I know,” Phil says, biting his lip. “But I want it to be on my birthday.”

 

Dan flounders for words, mouth trying to form the proper question. Finally, he settles on: “Why?”

 

“I haven’t had a good birthday in a really long time.” Phil tells him, sounding scared of his own words. The bottom falls out of Dan’s stomach at once, and he instantly feels like he might throw up a huge concoction of peanut butter and icing. “I mean, I’ve had some good times with you on that day, obviously, but underneath all the nice bits I’ve always been… sad, y’know?”

 

Dan chews his lip, tugging at a strip of loose skin with his teeth. “Uh huh.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t wanna… bring all that up.” Phil says, his voice kind of mumbly. “I just…” he sighs, fidgeting. “I’d like to make my birthday into something really, really happy. Make it a day where it’s impossible to be sad ever again, because it will always remind me of the best day of my life.”

 

Dan’s throat constricts, and he tries to swallow the lump forming there. “To kind of… erase all the bad stuff.”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, sounding eager now that Dan is cottoning on, “if it’s our wedding day, I won’t be thinking about all the… Birthday Sex stuff. It’ll be a nice memory replacing some… less nice ones.”

 

Dan breathes out heavily, feeling the tension of Phil’s neck and shoulders as the older boy continues to peer up at him. He glances down to meet Phil’s gaze, still gnawing his lip.

 

“You’re a peculiar person,” Dan says eventually, picking Shrek up off his lap in order to tap Phil on the nose with him.

 

Phil smiles at him, sleepy and beautiful. “So I’m told.”

 

“Okay.” Dan says at last, nodding. “January 30th. That sounds like a nice day to get married.”

 

Phil sits up straight, eyes shining. “Really?”

 

Sighing wistfully, Dan smiles, bringing Shrek up to obstruct Phil’s eyeline. He adopts a Scottish accent, and hides behind the monster pop in his hand.

 

“Really really.” He says in Shrek’s voice, making Phil laugh.

 

“I love you,” Phil tells him, sounding on the verge of tears.

 

“I love you too, weirdo.” Dan replies, though he can’t help smiling. “Now open wide for Daddy Shrek.”

 

Phil bursts out laughing, trying desperately to scoot away from Dan along the floor, but Dan is persistent and determined, tackling Phil to the floor and pushing the Shrek pop into his mouth.

 

“Shrek is love, Phil,” Dan tells him as Phil groans, choking on cake crumbs and laughter. “Shrek is life.”

 

* * *

 

 

2pm

 

What they’re doing right now is illegal, but Dan is too high to give a damn.

 

Adrenaline surges through his body, along with the seething euphoria coursing along each one of his trillions of veins. Phil’s lips sear across his skin like fireworks skittering along a frozen lake. Phil’s hands grip firmly against his ass, pulling them closer together even as Dan sits atop him, straddled on his lap.

 

All of a sudden, there’s a sharp jolt and Dan is falling to the side as the car careers around a sharp bend. The driver, steadfastly keeping himself from looking in the rear view mirror under Phil’s express instruction, coughs and apologises under his breath.

 

Dan struggles to haul himself upright again, giggling inanely as Phil takes hold of his arm, trying to help. They’re both laughing as Dan gets himself seated on Phil’s lap again at last, dizzy with what they've just done.

 

Breathing heavily, Dan leans in, resting his forehead against Phil’s. He brings his hands up to smooth the soft, black hair atop Phil's head.

 

“We’re married,” he breathes, awestruck.

 

Phil grins at him, pupils blown wide. “Madness.”

 

The flips and cartwheels that all of Dan’s primary organs are performing inside his body are making him feel like the tent of a circus, but all he can focus on are Phil's warm, exhilarated breaths as they fan over his chin and neck.

 

Dan leans forwards a little further, so that their noses brush, and his lip drags slightly over Phil’s, teasing.

 

He’s suddenly aware that the speed of the car is decreasing, and he shuts his eyes, suppressing a groan of frustration. He does not want to move from here, in the backseat of this car with Phil where the windows are tinted and the driver has been paid off to keep his eyes trained on that road in front of him.

 

But Phil seems excited, leaning backwards to stare out of the window at their destination, and Dan cannot imagine why. Sure, in five or ten minutes they’ll be alone again, finally, back in their flat where the world is shut out and Dan can do all of the absolutely sinful things he can’t stop thinking about to his new husband.

 

He’s not particularly excited about the _place,_ though. After all, he and Phil are here every day. They woke up here this morning. Their flat is as boring and familiar to Dan as ever, with its noisy, drilling neighbours and billions of stairs.

 

“What?” Dan asks, bewildered, as Phil starts bouncing in his seat excitably.

 

“We’re here!” Phil squeaks, grinning.

 

Dan just marvels down at him, perpetually impressed with the way Phil can transform the mundane into the extraordinary with his attitude alone.

 

“Last time I saw you this excited to be home was on that night we were forced to go to Alfie Deyes’ flat to watch the wrestling.”

 

Phil giggles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Dan, look out the window.”

 

So Dan does.

 

At first, he doesn’t understand. This isn’t their road, and it certainly isn’t their flat standing outside.

 

“Phil…” Dan says slowly, beginning to clamber off his lap. “What have you done?”

 

*

 

“Holy fucking shit,” Dan breathes as soon as the door swings open.

 

He’s immediately frozen to the spot, unable to even summon the strength to put one foot in front of the other.

 

Incidentally, he needn’t have worried, as before he can drink it all in, Dan’s feet are lifted from the ground, and he finds himself once again swung up into Phil’s arms, clinging to him for dear life.

 

Phil chuckles at the yelping noise he makes, then walks breezily into the room, Dan held to his chest.

 

“You didn’t think I’d deflower you in our flat, did you?” Phil asks, and Dan can’t help snorting with laughter.

 

“Bit late for that, mate.”

 

Phil walks as though he were handling a shopping basket rather than a full grown man, and Dan is getting a little more weak at the knees thinking about it with every step, so it’s probably a good thing he’s unable to walk right now.

 

They approach the large, plush King-sized bed, decorated with seemingly hundreds of unnecessary pillows; Phil drops Dan onto it with an exaggerated flourish.

 

“I think, considering we’re married now, you can probably stop calling me ‘mate’.” Phil says, one eyebrow raised as he promptly crawls on top of Dan.

 

Phil’s lips are on him before Dan can think of a witty retort, not that he can think about much of anything right now except how completely dumbstruck he is by the situation at hand.

 

Phil tastes like the Sensodyne that Dan watched him brush his teeth with this morning, and for some reason thinking about it makes Dan want to cry. He locks his arms around Phil’s neck, pulling him as close as he can, and tries to wrap his head around the one, simple yet astronomical idea that he will – if he wants – get to watch Phil brush his teeth every morning for the rest of their lives.

 

Breathing starts to become a little tricky after a while, and not just because of the annoyingly tight suit jacket that Dan still hasn’t taken off. So he pushes against Phil’s shoulders, tilting his head to search for oxygen. Phil rolls off him happily, laying on his back on the bed beside Dan and finding his hand.

 

They’re silent for a minute, awed to find their own reflections gazing dazedly back at them from the depths of the sprawling mirrored panel covering the ceiling directly above the bed.

 

“Phil, this place is ridiculous.” Dan says after a moment, head swirling as he stares up into his own awestruck face.

 

Phil laughs, meeting Dan’s wide eyes in the mirror. “It is a bit more mental than I thought it would be.”

 

“How much did this cost you?!” Dan can’t help asking; he sits up slowly, very aware that he’s too overwhelmed to function particularly well right now.

 

He passes a gaze around the hotel room, swallowing as each new marvel swims into his eyeline. The place is enormous, and sort of… jungle themed. There is an excessive amount of plant life decorating the large space. In the centre of the room stands an island of tropical plants, including a few small palm trees and cacti, alongside a plethora of colourful and bizarre leaves and flowers, the likes of which Dan cannot recognise as being from this side of the planet.

 

Vines of various sorts line the trellises covering some feature walls, and there are hanging baskets strung up all over the place, spilling out waterfalls of flowers in a variety of colours. It smells divine in here; Dan is half expecting to hear a parrot squawking or the low chitter of crickets.

 

Eventually, his attention falls upon a corner of the room partially obscured by clouded glass panels. As Dan cranes his neck to view it better, he gasps.

 

“Phil, there’s a fucking Jacuzzi in here.”

 

Phil turns to him, eyes wide with disbelief. “No there’s not.”

 

“Phil, look!” Dan says, whacking him lightly in the chest and pointing over towards the corner.

 

Reluctantly, Phil sits up, then scoots to the edge of the bed to stand. He meanders over towards the hidden corner, eyes widening as he takes in the sight.

 

“Oh my God,” he breathes, his blue eyes shining with excitement as he turns back towards Dan. “A hot tub!”

 

“We are so, _so_ having sex in there later,” Dan says before he can help himself.

 

Phil spins on his heel, laughing, and at that moment, a cough sounds from the doorway of the room.

 

Fuck, Dan thinks, paling as he remembers neither of them closing it.

 

“Um, terribly sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” A smartly dressed bellhop announces, pink-cheeked. Dan flops back onto the bed, trying hard to swallow the urge to eat his own face off with embarrassment. “On the hotel’s behalf, a complimentary newlywed gift is included in your stay. Would you like me to bring it in now?”

 

Dan sits bolt upright again, forgetting his mortification at the mention of the word ‘gift’.

 

“Yes please.” Dan says eagerly, perhaps a little too fast.

 

The bellhop nods, and ducks back out of the room briefly. Dan turns to Phil in order to exchange an excited grin.

 

The bellhop reappears in seconds, this time wheeling a gold cart into the room with him. A patterned cream tablecloth is draped over the top, looking like it’s more expensive on its own than Dan’s entire wedding outfit put together.

 

Atop the cart sits a shiny golden ice bucket, in which sits a glistening bottle of what must be champagne. Beside this, there are two empty champagne flutes, and something hidden beneath a golden lid.

 

The bellhop lifts the lid with a flourish, revealing a large bowl of fat, crimson strawberries and a pretty jug of cream.

 

“Congratulations on your nuptials, sirs.” The bellhop says, bowing slightly. “Is there anything else I can get for you before I leave?”

 

Phil wanders over to the cart, mouth parted, and shakes his head a little.

 

“No, thank you.” Dan whispers quietly.

 

The bellhop nods, turning to leave.

 

“Oh, actually,” Phil says, head lifting suddenly. The bellhop pauses in his tracks, turning back to face the room. “Just… if you need to come back up for any reason could you, um…” The corner of Phil’s mouth tilts up very slightly, and he casts a brief look towards Dan. “Knock?”

 

The bellhop ducks his head immediately, nodding. “O-of course, sir.”

 

As soon as he’s gone, the door firmly closed behind him, Dan seriously considers whether to murder Phil or kiss him.

 

Phil, seeming to sense the warring debate raging in Dan’s mind, turns to him with an amused, mischievous smile. “Strawberry?”

 

“You’re so embarrassing.” Dan admonishes, shaking his head and trying to will away the redness in his cheeks. “Remind me why I agreed to marry you, again?”

 

Phil shrugs, picking a strawberry out of the bowl and dunking it in the cream. Dan watches as he tilts his head back and lifts the fruit to his lips, letting some of the cream drip onto his tongue.

 

The room feels very warm all of a sudden. Dan pulls at the neck of his tie, his lungs growing tight.

 

“Great sex?” Phil suggests, as he bites into the strawberry.

 

A rivulet of blood red juice drips over Phil's lower lip, trickling down over his chin until it’s flowing over his pulse; Dan has to fight to stay on the bed. He swallows, watching as Phil wipes up the juice with one finger, then sucks on the tip. He locks onto Dan’s gaze, winking.

 

“Sure you don’t want a strawberry?”

 

“Come here,” Dan says, his voice coming out much rougher than normal for some reason. “Bring the bottle.”

 

Phil grins at him, then turns to lift the bottle out of the ice. He waggles it at Dan, teasingly. “You come here.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, pretending to resist, when really he feels like he would let Phil shove that whole champagne bottle up his ass if he really wanted to right now.

 

He stands up, shaking himself out of his suddenly unbearably restrictive and hot suit jacket. He lets it fall to the floor, forgetting it the moment it’s off his body.

 

He walks over to Phil slowly, not wanting to appear to eager. Phil just watches with a smirk, twisting the cork of the bottle until it pops off in his hand.

 

He pours Dan a glass, handing it to him as he approaches. Then, he pours himself another.

 

They stand facing each other, their flutes held before them.

 

“Happy wedding day, baby.” Phil says after a moment; Dan would never, ever admit it, but the rare endearment is like a shockwave through his spine.

 

“A-and to you.” Dan says, cursing himself for the obvious stutter.

 

They clink their glasses together, both smiling. Dan sips his champagne nervously, not wanting to break eye contact with Phil.

 

Phil drinks almost all of his in one fell swoop, so, after a moment’s hesitation, Dan follows suit.

 

“What shall we do now?” Phil asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he places his flute back on the cart.

 

Dan watches Phil’s fingers as they trace the rim of the bowl of strawberries, circling the lip as elegantly as two pale dancer’s legs skimming around a stage.

 

His toes curl inside of his shoes.

 

He and Phil decided, at some point a couple of weeks prior, to try and see if they could wait for tonight. It has been, at times, both difficult and surprisingly easy. Being intimate, Dan has learned recently, does not always mean sex. It can mean simply being close to someone, or sharing things that you wouldn’t with anyone else.

 

And, obviously, he and Phil have some experience with being patient in this regard. 

 

You'd think, after so many years of waiting for such long, long periods of time to be together, that two weeks would feel like nothing at all. 

 

This, for Dan at least, has not been the case.

 

“I think I might have a strawberry, actually,” Dan croaks out, not quite able to meet Phil’s eye just yet.

 

He places his glass down atop the cart, trying hard not to let his hand shake too obviously.

 

He reaches for the bowl, but Phil moves fast, slipping an arm around Dan’s waist and pulling them flush against one another.

 

“Allow me,” Phil purrs, so close they might as well be snogging already.

 

Dan holds his breath, not daring to respond in case it just comes out as pure gibberish.

 

Suddenly, Phil is holding a strawberry to his lips, and before it’s even on his tongue Dan can feel the sugar rush flooding his body, zipping through his bloodstream with wild abandon.

 

He opens his mouth a little, biting through the soft flesh of the fruit’s very tip, never letting himself look away from Phil’s intense gaze.

 

He’s the first one to break, obviously.

 

Despite appearances and flirtatious fronts, Phil is just _better_ at all this seduction malarkey than Dan.

 

Dan is too impatient, too greedy for him.

 

He can never stand the build up because he has no impulse control. He knocks the strawberry out of Phil’s hand in the next second, and then he has his arms around Phil’s neck, and his damp lips pressed hard against Phil’s.

 

Phil makes a small squeak of surprise, but then he’s pulling Dan even closer, kissing back just as eagerly. Dan shoves his fingers deep into the tresses of Phil’s hair, carding his hands through until he has chunks of it clutched in his fists.

 

Phil’s arms are so tight around his middle that Dan can hardly breathe, but he doesn’t complain, wouldn’t want to – he’s missed this so much.

 

“Fuck me,” Dan mumbles desperately, almost incoherent against Phil’s mouth, “please. Quick.”

 

Phil moans, his eyelids fluttering as he pulls back from Dan to stare at him for a moment. Without releasing his grip on Dan’s waist, he begins to walk backwards, kissing Dan fervently as he tries to manoeuvre them towards the bed.

 

Some sort of dangling plant brushes irritatingly against Dan’s cheek; he bats it away without looking, somehow managing to unbalance himself in the process. Before he knows it, he’s tripping, falling into Phil with enough force to knock him over backwards, and then they’re both on the floor, winded and laughing.

 

Dan, half sprawled atop Phil’s torso, leans up, an apology on the tip of his tongue. At the sight of Phil, bewildered and chuckling, he cracks up again, rolling sideways.

 

“Fuck, sorry,” Dan says between giggles. “You should know, now that we’re married – I’m extremely unsexy.”

 

Phil rolls onto his side to face him, still grinning. “I object to that statement.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, but grins as Phil moves to lie on top of him. Phil’s hands begin unbuttoning his shirt, and Dan is not about to protest. He’s sure Phil can feel the frantic beating of his heart, but he has no reason to hide his excitement anymore, so he just gazes up at the man above him, more than happy to let him do as he pleases.

 

Phil gets the shirt open without issue, and pulls it out from where it’s tucked into Dan’s waistband in order to push it off his shoulders and throw it aside.

 

Fingers trace the skin of Dan’s chest, dancing over his ribs and stomach, then lower, until they’re teasing at his fly. Phil leans down to kiss him, still smiling, still happy and excitable, so Dan closes a fist around his tie, holding him in place.

 

The champagne bottle, somehow still clutched in Phil's hand, moves into Dan's line of vision. He watches, speechless, as Phil brings it to his lips, smirking as he pours a little into his mouth. 

 

He pulls it away, a glimmer in his eyes, and says: “I’m gonna make you come so many times tonight.”

 

Dan almost chokes on the air itself. A furious rush of blood bursts beneath the skin of his face and neck, and he feels something feral and wicked ripping through his core.

 

“Y-yeah?” He asks, making Phil smirk again.

 

Instead of a verbal response, Phil chooses to tilt the bottle in his hands, letting some of the bubbling liquid splash across Dan's bare chest. Dan yelps at the cold, squirming in surprise, but before he can protest, Phil's mouth is upon him, lapping the rivulets up as they dribble across him, catching them on his tongue before they can run off to the floor beneath. 

 

Dan just gasps, shuddering as it happens, his mind blanking as he tries to stay coherent. 

 

“Yeah.” Phil says after a while, and then pours a drop of champagne into the dip of Dan's left collarbone.

 

Dan whimpers as Phil's tongue flicks over him, slurping the champagne from Dan's clavicle like Dan's body were a priceless goblet. Dan's still trying to catch his breath, but in the next second Phil is reaching down with one hand, flicking open the button of Dan’s trousers. He leans back, placing the champagne bottle aside and wiping the moisture from his lips with the back of his hand. “Gotta make it worth the wait right?" He says mischievously. " _Husband_.”

 

Phil’s fingers are slipping into the front of his trousers; Dan bites his lip, his own hands moving to clutch at Phil’s broad, steady shoulders.

 

“Shit,” Dan whispers, the expletive bursting from his lips without permission.

 

“You okay?” Phil asks, teasing, as he presses a gentle palm over Dan’s rapidly growing bulge.

 

Dan nods, already feeling light headed. “Can’t promise I won’t pass out at some point, but yeah, I’m all good.”

 

Phil chuckles, finding the elastic band of Dan’s underwear and pushing past it, plunging his hand inside without so much as a hesitation.

 

“Mm,” Phil mumbles as he wraps those sinfully delicate fingers around his cock, his voice so low that Dan almost doesn’t catch it. "Missed you."

 

Yeah, Dan thinks to himself as Phil starts to pump his hand slowly up and down, he’s definitely going to black out before the night is through.

 

Before Dan can grow used to the sensation of Phil’s hand again after so long, he’s moving, pulling free from Dan’s underwear and clambering off him. He moves down Dan’s chest, placing a couple of kisses on the damp, bared skin as he goes.

 

He sits up, pulling Dan’s shoes and socks off one by one and chucking them over his shoulders. Then, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of Dan’s trousers and yanks roughly, pulling the garment from him as if he were stripping the covers from his bed.

 

Dan’s underwear follows quickly, as Phil seems to have no patience for any sort of clothing this evening, and all of a sudden Dan is naked. He feels it’s starting to become a theme, and an unfair one at that, where he is naked, and Phil remains fully dressed.

 

“Are you-”

 

Dan is planning to say ‘are you going to take your clothes off now’, or something of the sort, but he is cut off by the immediate and precise way in which Phil descends on him, slipping his gorgeous, slick mouth over Dan’s length and sinking down; a moan pours from Dan’s lips as he feels himself nudging against the back of Phil’s throat.

 

“Oh, fff-uck,” is all Dan can say in response, his toes curling so tightly inwards that he worries they might cramp. “Phil, oh God-”

 

Phil, if he’s even listening, does not bother to respond. Instead, he begins moving his mouth over Dan, pulling off him with a wet ‘pop’, only to begin licking and mouthing over every inch of him. Dan moans and squirms under the attention, feeling his body warming, his fingers curling into fists.

 

The tip of Phil’s tongue circles the head of Dan’s cock, lightly flicking against the sensitive flesh there. Dan, wanting to be as good about this as he could be, has not even jerked off in two and a half weeks, so the feeling of Phil’s tongue against him, here, is like raw, beautiful bliss.

 

He whimpers, hips twitching towards Phil as he continues; all of a sudden, he feels incredibly close to the edge.

 

“Phil,” Dan groans out, teeth clenched. “Phil, s-slow down.”

 

For obvious reasons, Phil doesn’t seem to take any notice of this warning. He closes his fist around the base of Dan’s length, letting his throat relax as he sinks slowly back down.

 

Dan whimpers softly, one hand pushing itself into Phil’s hair. He’s definitely not going to last much longer.

 

Then, without explanation, Phil pulls off him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and gazing down at Dan, a smirk on his face.

 

“Feeling okay still?”

 

Unable to find words that could possibly hope to convey his feelings, Dan just nods, his chest deflating and expanding rapidly.

 

Phil grins, the white of his teeth almost blinding as they flash into Dan’s field of vision for the briefest of seconds. He clambers off Dan, kneeling up in order to shrug off his jacket.

 

Dan groans; the shirt Phil is wearing fits him in ways that Dan could only ever dream of. He never fills out his clothes in the way that Phil seems to, effortlessly. Recently, Dan’s foray into the world of high fashion has left him feeling somewhat bereft, particularly in terms of how certain garments seem to fit him.

 

Phil, on the other hand, never seems to have any issue, probably because he sticks to what he knows – garish, comic t-shirts and jeans, sometimes a hoodie, and occasionally a patterned shirt. Unlike Dan’s wardrobe, the clothes Phil wears don’t seem to care that he’s grown since he first bought them in 2012. They hug him like old friends, accentuating his shapely torso, pulling against his muscles in photos and videos to show off the physique hiding beneath.

 

The shirt he wears now, which is simple and white with a gold thread interwoven into the fabric if you look closely, is no exception. It clings to Phil like the stars cling to the velvet of the night sky.

 

He’s unbuttoned the very tip of the collar, and his tie is loosened so much it’s almost undone at this point. But he looks sensational. Dan has never wanted to rip the taut material off of someone more.

 

Then, without a word, Phil reaches into the inner pocket of the jacket he just removed, and pulls out a bottle of lubricant. He doesn’t comment on this action, he just proceeds to uncap it like it’s perfectly normal.

 

“Um,” Dan interrupts, making Phil look up, “sorry, but did you have a bottle of lube in your pocket as you were reciting your vows to me?”

 

Phil chuckles. “Yeah, what of it?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “You’re so romantic.”

 

“Would you prefer I didn’t bring it?” Phil asks, one eyebrow raised as he coats his fingers in lube.

 

Dan blushes a little, and looks at the ceiling. “No, I guess not.”

 

Dan expects Phil to say something smug at this point, but instead, he feels two slick, slippery fingers sliding between his cheeks. He gasps, clutching at the nearest thing he can grab – which happens to be Phil’s suit jacket – and squeezes his eyes shut as Phil teases him.

 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Phil says, his voice warm as he trails his mouth over Dan’s hipbone. The breath from his words tickles against Dan’s skin, making him shudder. “Does that feel good?”

 

Dan groans in frustration at the question, because he knows he couldn’t possibly hope to answer it with enough enthusiasm.

 

“Yes,” he says in lieu of an appropriate response.

 

Phil makes a ‘hmm’ sound, dragging his lip over the four delicate numbers inked across Dan’s hip, then descending lower, until he reaches the top of his thigh. He bites down at the thick flesh, sucking a bruise into the skin. The unexpected prick of pain makes Dan yelp, and he flushes at his own reaction, embarrassed by it.

 

Phil giggles, pressing kisses to the mark he just created. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound it. “Couldn’t help myself.”

 

Phil’s finger circles his rim, relentless and never quite enough. All of a sudden, he pushes inside, burying his finger up to the knuckle, making Dan clench around him.

 

“Fuck,” Dan whispers, feeling the jolt of pleasure soar through him like a lightning rod, stinging his tear ducts with its ferocity. “Phil…”

 

“Yes, Dan?”

 

“Unngh,” Dan chokes out, overwhelmed with frustration. He feels like there is no blood left in his body at this point; all of it has pooled in his groin. “Please, _please_ fuck me.”

 

“Not yet,” Phil says, smirking again as he leans forwards to swipe his tongue over the broad length of Dan’s straining erection. “You’re not ready.”

 

Dan kind of wants to hit him for saying that. Instead, he just tosses his head back, trying desperately to keep himself under control as Phil adds a second finger. Phil is sucking gently on the tip of his cock, and two of his fingers are plunging in and out of him.

 

It happens before Dan can rein himself in. He screams as he comes, not even able to give Phil any warning. Phil pulls off him, obviously surprised, but leans back in eagerly to swipe up the come that spurts out of Dan’s cock, seeming pleased.

 

The orgasm leaves Dan feeling weakened, and he has to spend a minute just laying flat, bathing in the leftover ripples and tingles flowing up and down his arms.

 

“It’s okay, baby,” Phil says, moving up to kiss him on the mouth. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dan is aware that sometimes, once in a while, he can be a bit _Extra™._

 

He doesn’t always mean to be. Sure, sometimes he will intentionally ham up his tendency to overreact, or scream too much on the gaming channel because – despite their complaints – their fans find it hilarious when he behaves like a dramatic crazy person.

 

Sometimes though, Dan doesn’t even mean it. He just has a problem with knowing when to stop. Which is, incidentally, how he finds himself standing outside a tattoo parlour on a Friday afternoon, trying to work up the courage to go inside.

 

He’s pretty sure that, at this point, that Phil is convinced that Dan has every intention of marrying him. But Dan’s mind doesn’t work in the way other people’s might, and so he feels like he needs to prove himself again and again until he convinces himself, as well as Phil, of his unyielding affection.

 

A muscular man in a black vest pushes past him, his thick arms drenched in tattoos, a styrofoam cup of black coffee in his hand. He gives Dan a weird look as he pushes the door of the tattoo shop open, pausing in the entrance.

 

“You comin’ in, man?” The guy asks, eyeing Dan in mild disbelief.

 

Dan swallows, then forces himself to nod his head. “Y-yeah. Um, yep.”

 

Before he can think too much about what he’s about to do, Dan walks forwards, mumbling a thanks as he takes the weight of the door from the burly guy. He walks up to the desk behind the man, feeling like his knees might give out any moment.

 

To his surprise, the tatted dude completely sidesteps the counter, walking around it in order to take a place in the chair on the other side. He sips the (surely burning hot) coffee in his hand, then places it down beside the computer monitor on the desk. 

 

“So,” the guys says, leaning back in his chair as he looks Dan up and down. “You gonna shit your pants on my floor if I ask you what you’re after?”

 

Dan laughs nervously, trying to force himself to calm down. “Sorry, uh… just kinda nervous.”

 

The guy snorts, swivelling on his chair to catch the eye of a crimson haired, stick-thin guy in the back of the shop, currently inking a tribal design onto someone’s calf. The look exchanged between them does not help to put Dan at ease. He feels very conscious of his outfit, suddenly. Perhaps today was not the best day to show off his t-shirt with Leonardo DiCaprio crying desktop icons. 

 

“You don’t say.”

 

“I’m looking to get a tattoo.” Dan says as confidently as he can manage, wondering if someone as ridiculously masculine as this guy before him will ever take him seriously.

 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, pal.”

 

“That’s good,” Dan says, smiling. He decides to try a joke – his failsafe defence mechanism. “The pet shop next door kept sending me away.”

 

The guy just looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “What kinda thing are you after, mate?”

 

“Just… a little thing,” Dan mumbles, feeling himself blush, traitorously. “…mate.”

 

He regrets the word as soon as its out, of course, and shuts his eyes, cringing at his own social awkwardness.

 

“Tell me a bit about what you’re thinking of,” the guy says, sounding exhausted already. “I’ll make up some sketches and see if we can get something you like.”

 

“Well, um,” Dan hitches his rucksack up his shoulder, wondering how to phrase this, “so, I’m uh… getting married.”

 

“Congrats, dude!” The flame-haired guy yells from the back of the shop.

 

Dan lifts his hand in acknowledgement, sending him a strained smile.

 

“So… matching tats, is it?”

 

“Oh, no.” Dan says, laughing. “No, no. I just want something that proves… like a little thing on me somewhere that says I’m… that means I’m fully, um. Theirs.”

 

Dan curses himself silently for not being able to say ‘his’. But homophobia is unfortunately still a thing, especially in hyper-masculine communities. He can't be too careful. 

 

The guy behind the counter is looking at him strangely. “Like… their name?”

 

Dan breathes out, thinking. “I thought about a name. But that seems a little bit, um,”

 

“Possessive?” The guy suggests, clearly shocked by Dan’s request.

 

“Oh, I’m not really worried about that.” Dan says without thinking, and the guys eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He backtracks quickly, blushing. “It’s just… we’re pretty… um, we’re committed. I’m in it forever, y’know? No doubts.”

 

“Cute,” the guy says uncomfortably, shifting about in his seat. “What about… a date of significance?”

 

War flashbacks of the past seven years of January 30th’s and June 11th’s flit through Dan’s brain like a horrifying slideshow.

 

“Uh,” he says, feeling beads of perspiration begin to form on his neck. “Not sure. Do people usually get dates? We… have kind of a tricky history with two very specific days of the year.”

 

The guys breathes out of his nose, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. He plucks a pencil out of a nearby pot and grabs a sketchpad.

 

“Well, it’s up to you.” The guy says, shrugging. “Do the dates you have in mind have negative connotations?”

 

Dan deliberates his answer, trying to work out how to respond without sounding like a lunatic. “Yes and no.”

 

Flame-head snorts with laughter in the background, and Dan visibly tenses at the sound.

 

The faint mocking sound of his chortle ripples across Dan’s skin, standing his hairs upright. His jaw tenses, and he feels himself growing irritated.

 

He has every right to be in this place, after all. Just because this is his first tattoo does not mean that he can’t come to a tattoo parlour with all his miles of pale, bare skin.

 

He needs to get ahold of himself, or these artists are going to bully him out of the door, and Dan won’t have it. So, he considers the two dates that he tries hard not to think about most of the time, spinning them around in his overactive mind.

 

11/06.

 

30/01.

 

The numbers by themselves are ambiguous enough that, were someone to notice the ink, he could probably explain it away with a lie.

 

It’s not a bad idea, really, to choose a date to represent he and Phil’s journey. And after all, what better dates to choose than the two that have been the centre of their years for the past seven?

 

He’d go for Phil’s birthday, he thinks. Not only because it would be really weird to get his own birthday tattooed onto himself, but because – as Phil said – that particular date will now have a second, even more meaningful attachment than simply the day Phil Lester came into being.

 

“Okay,” Dan says firmly, not giving himself time to think up an opposing argument. “January 30th, that’s the date I want.”

 

The guy looks at him, surprised by the sudden bout of confidence. “Cool. Just the numbers?”

 

“Just the numbers." Dan says with a confidence that surprises him. "And a skull breathing flames on my left arse cheek." 

 

The guy snorts with laughter at the joke, and Dan feels like he's passed some kind of horrendous exam. He grins at the guy, relaxing a little now that they've gotten past the awkward initial stage.  

 

“You must really love this girl.” The tatted guy says, starting to draw a careful set of numbers onto the pad before him.

 

“Guy.” Dan corrects, spurred on by his own surge of adrenaline. The tatted dude glances up, surprised, but Dan just smiles. "And yeah, I do." 

 

*

 

"I love it, I love it, I love it," Phil tells him for the thousandth time, breath ghosting over the sore, raised skin.

 

Dan winces, but tries not to react. "Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch."

 

"I can't believe you did this," Phil chokes, sounding genuinely awestruck. 

 

They're laid out on their sofa, Phil's face level with his hip. Dan has no shirt on, but strangely he doesn't feel self conscious right now. Phil's eyes are trained on the delicate, black numbers scratched into his skin; Dan doesn't blame him. He can't take his eyes off the tattoo either. 

 

It feels so odd, knowing that they'll be on him for the rest of his life. The thought of it makes him shiver.

 

Phil glances up, looking concerned. "Do you regret it?" 

 

"What?" Dan asks, brow furrowing. "Are you joking?"

 

"I just thought..." Phil bites his lip, unsure. "Maybe now that it's actually, like,  _on you..._ " 

 

"You are literally crazy if you think I am anything less than thrilled to have this, Phil." Dan tells him, trying to sound as sincere as he feels. "Fuck, I wanted your initials. I wanted your full fucking name and a portrait of your face, but I had to be a little bit rational." 

 

Phil laughs, breathless. His pupils are blown as wide as Dan has ever seen them. "You're mental."

 

Dan looks at Phil like he's an idiot. "Duh." He pauses, smirking. "You're mental-er. You're actually _marrying_ me."

 

Phil crawls up his torso then, careful not to brush over the sensitive, still red skin of Dan's hip. "I want one too." 

 

Dan's eyes go a little wide then, and he feels himself growing uncomfortably warm. "Phil, you don't have to-"

 

Three fingers push against Dan's lips, silencing him. "I know, Dan." Phil tells him, removing his hand so he can kiss him. "But if you want something that says you're mine forever, then I want it too." 

 

* * *

 

4pm

 

Everything is warm, and the air itself tastes of strawberries.

 

This bed is far too big, especially for just one person, but Dan is not in any state of mind for logic or sense. He brings the champagne flute in his hand towards his lips, smiling happily. Somehow, he manages to spill a droplet or two on the covers, but it’s fine, everything’s fine. He’s so _warm_.

 

Phil is over by the champagne cart still, watching him. There’s a smile stretching his pretty mouth, and it’s making Dan feel bubbly. Though it could be all the champagne.

 

“You’re so cute,” Phil is saying, though he sounds quiet.

 

Dan frowns at him; it doesn’t make sense. Why is he so far away? He thumps the covers to his right, pouting. “Come here.”

 

Phil chuckles, but does as he’s told, meandering over towards the bed. He plucks the champagne bottle from the bucket as he goes, lifting it to his lips to take a sip.

 

“Something I can help you with?” He asks, clambering onto the mattress.

 

Dan reaches for him with the hand not holding the champagne, pulling him forwards by the loose strands of his tie.

 

He swallows, thinking hard. “Maybe.”

 

Phil raises an eyebrow, shuffling closer. “Maybe?”

 

Dan deliberately doesn’t look at him, choosing instead to tip more of the champagne into his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

 

“Oh?”

 

A bubble of a smile hides in Phil’s voice. Dan wants to pop it with his bare hands.

 

Dan looks at him, eyes roving over Phil’s pretty features, letting each one fold into his brain one by one. He gets to look at these every day, forever. Dan’s mouth falls open a little, unable to process the thought, still.

 

“Actually,” Dan says, shaking all of his more errant thoughts away. He should know better than to let his mouth run away with itself after he’s had a few drinks. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Phil pokes him in the side, making him shriek. “Tell me.”

 

Dan blushes, wishing he hadn’t brought this up. He drains the rest of his champagne, rolling over to place the empty glass on the bedside table.

 

“No, it’s okay.” He says again, rolling back towards Phil and snuggling into him. “Just kiss me more.”

 

Phil smiles down at him, leaning forwards to peck him on the mouth. When he pulls back - far too quickly, in Dan’s opinion - he’s still wearing a look of amusement.

 

“Did you have something you wanted to try?”

 

Blood rushes into Dan’s cheeks, heating his face to a level he wasn’t sure was possible. “Honestly Phil, it doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

 

“Dan, we’re married.” Phil reminds him, sounding on the brink of laughter. “Like, literally married. I’m not gonna say no.”

 

“I…” Dan hesitates, heart suddenly thrumming in his chest.

 

Phil’s eyes roam over him, assessing. “How kinky is it?”

 

Dan splutters. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

 

“Is it a furry thing?”

 

Dan hits him in the shoulder. “That’s a _joke,_ you fucking-”

 

Phil laughs, grabbing hold of his wrist. “Okay, okay. Just tell me then.”

 

Dan bites his lip, burying his face in the duvet.

 

“Dan,” Phil sighs, shaking him by the shoulder. “Just tell me! Chances are I’ll be into it. You’re unspeakably attractive. I genuinely cannot think of something you could say that would repulse me.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Dan lifts his head from the covers, teeth gritted. “Gimme a swig of champagne first.”

 

Phil hands him the bottle wordlessly.

 

Dan upends it into his mouth, swallowing a gulp. He hands the bottle back to Phil, wiping the champagne from his lips.

 

“Okay,” he says eventually. “So, like, do you remember your birthday? Your… last birthday?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“Do you remember, like… that thing you did…” Dan hesitates, hoping to see some recognition on Phil’s face just from this. “You, um… with your tongue… and, like-”

 

Dan breaks off, looking heavenward. God, this is so embarrassing.

 

Unexpectedly, Phil lets out a tiny chuckle; Dan swivels to face him, feeling instantly murderous.

 

Then, before Dan can start swinging punches, Phil moves towards him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Dan stills, stupefied by the action, and then he’s being pushed backwards against the pillows, Phil following him down.

 

Phil’s mouth is moving over his chest now, pressing kisses across his collarbones, lips trailing pathways over the skin. He feels the soft scrape of teeth as Phil moves over his right nipple, and it makes Dan gasp.

 

Hands are pulling at the covers draped over Dan’s waist, bunching them around his shins, until they’re slipping off the bed entirely. Phil lifts his head to look at Dan once he reaches his navel, and they lock eyes, caught adrift in a momentary stasis of time.

 

Dan is still trying to process what is happening; all he can feel is the racing of his own heart alongside the multitude of electric pulses each touch of Phil’s lips bring as they press into his skin.

 

He’s naked, still, because clothes seemed irrelevant after Phil had already removed them once. Phil leans backwards, the sharp blue of his eyes cutting into Dan’s flesh like two knives slipping into soft, unyielding butter.

 

Dan has no time to even contemplate covering himself, let alone insist that Phil remove his clothes too, finally. Instead, Phil’s hands are on his thighs, pushing them apart, gentle but with that hidden reserve of strength that only rears its head in certain moments.

 

Dan lets Phil manoeuvre him, parting his legs obediently, though he swallows around a tightening in his throat as he does it. Phil ducks his head to kiss over Dan’s hipbones, tongue running over the bumps of his healing tattoo before positioning himself between Dan’s legs.

 

A piercing beam of clarity penetrates the fog of Dan’s champagne-hazy mind: Phil knows exactly what Dan had been asking for.

 

It might be possible that Dan is the luckiest goddamn person alive.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dan groans, his head lolling backwards as he realises what is happening. Phil chuckles softly, the breath of his laughter ghosting over Dan's sensitive erection.

 

“I’ve got you,” Phil says softly, running his tongue over Dan’s length.

 

Dan twitches at the sensation, not expecting it, and reaches out for Phil blindly, one hand outstretched towards him.

 

Phil’s fingers lace with his, squeezing hard.

 

“Push your legs up for me?” Phil asks gently, dropping his mouth to brush teasingly over Dan’s balls.

 

Dan sucks in a breath, not sure he’s going to survive this. He does as asked, lifting his thighs up off the bed and pulling them towards his chest. Phil pulls his hand free of Dan’s grasp in order to spread them wider.

 

At this point, Dan has all but forgotten how to breathe. He grapples with his lungs for oxygen, trying to cast his mind back to one year ago, to remember how this is going to feel. It’s been so long, though. All he remembers is that it was an incomparable sensation, one that he has tried to replicate on his own, always in vain.

 

He can feel his cock twitch with excitement, and he whimpers without meaning to, the anticipation feeling like torture.

 

Phil’s broad hands stroke across his bum, gentle but firm as he caresses the sensitive area.

 

Then, Phil’s tongue is against him, and it’s every bit as ferocious, every bit as acute and blissful as Dan remembers. The mere touch of him is as exhilarating as pressing his bare fingertip to a live, stripped wire - one that connects to every nerve ending in his body.

 

Dan moans, obscene and loud, his fingers winding themselves into the sheets beneath his body. His thighs, heavy as they are to keep suspended above him, tremble with the exertion, and he drapes them over Phil’s shoulders, letting his toes curl against the back of Phil’s shirt.

 

“Fuck, fuck, oh-”

 

Dan has no idea what he is saying, or even if it’s English at this point, but something within him cannot keep quiet, so he just curses and yelps against the sordid, sinful feeling of Phil’s tongue laving against him. His eyelids flutter, and he wishes he had enough control over his own limbs to reach between his legs and release some of the pressure building in his cock.

 

Being the psychic deviant that he is, Phil seems to hear this plea, and reaches around Dan’s right thigh in order to stroke him. 

 

“Oh my God, Phil I’m gonna come,” Dan babbles, teeth grinding together as he feels Phil’s tongue work its way past the rim, burrowing into him with such determination that Dan marvels at his strength. “I’m gonna come, like right now.”

 

Dan’s hips push down, urging Phil to continue despite his warnings. Phil’s left hand is gripping onto his hip, using it like a handlebar as he perseveres. Dan can’t be sure, as it’s hard to hear much over his own desperate, whorish groans, but it sounds like Phil is moaning.

 

And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing Dan has literally ever experienced.

 

Phil sweeps his thumb over the head of Dan’s cock, the feel of it punching the air straight out of his lungs. He cries out, sounding agonised, only for Phil to do it again, his tongue still pressing right into the dip of his most intimate area.

 

The orgasm rips through Dan, tearing him in two, or so it feels. He thinks he might shout Phil’s name as he comes, but he can’t be sure it was even intelligible. The shockwaves ricochet through him, making him squirm and tighten his legs around Phil’s neck. He collapses, spent, into the mattress, slipping from Phil as a limp doll would from its owner’s arms.

 

“Holy fucking _shit,_ ” Dan moans, his voice coarse and broken from all the screaming.

 

Every muscle feels weighted down by something incredibly heavy. The afterglow of his orgasm sits beneath his warmed skin, tingling lightly, teasing him with the promise of another.

 

Phil chuckles at him, breathless and flushed as he lies down beside him. “Is that sort of what you had in mind?”

 

Dan groans, the effort of rolling over to face him almost knocking him out cold. He hums in contentment as Phil’s arms fall around his shoulders, pulling him in.

 

“I love you so fucking much,” Dan says in a rush of breath.

 

Phil giggles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Good thing you married me, then.”

  
 

* * *

 

 

Dan thought he knew what snow was like.

 

In Wokingham, they’d get a blanket of it lining the streets maybe once a year. It would send the kids of the town into a frenzy for a morning or two. It would piss of his Dad, who would have to get up earlier than usual in order to defrost the windshields of the family cars.

 

The school might close for one day if they were really lucky, and the trains would all grind to a halt at the sight of the first snowflake.

 

Then it would slowly begin to melt away, caking the edges of the roads in greying sludge. Dan would be forced out to school in shoes with ‘proper grip’ and a hideous puffer jacket.

 

Though it was admittedly pretty for a while, the kind of snowfall Dan knew became a nuisance so fast that he had no time for it. Give him rain, or hailstones, or even a cloudy sky. Weather that provided excuses to stay indoors with a mug of tea and his Xbox, that was Dan’s favourite.

 

Dan never knew what to do with the snow days.

 

It’s only standing knee deep in the powdery, untouched quilt of thick white beside Phil that Dan realises this is because he’s never known snow like this.

 

His hand is in Phil’s, but he can’t really feel him through their woollen gloves. Dan's are fingerless, and he's regretting it already as the cold stings his fingertips. He has his stupid hat on as well, the one with the ear flaps that his mum bought for him before he came to visit Phil yet again. He'd hated the thing at first, but Phil met him at the station and the first thing he said was how cute Dan looked in it, so now he might never take it off again.

 

They haven’t spoken in a while, and it’s honestly probably because this place is so eerily beautiful. The building in front of them, while derelict and half-falling down, is astonishing to behold – like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

 

Phil said it used to be a hospital before it was abandoned. Dan remembers seeing it on Most Haunted a few years ago, so they’d excitedly jumped on a bus to come and see it, high off their own youthful spontaneity.

 

It was probably a bit of a reckless decision, in all honesty. They’ve spent an entire day walking around Manchester, having endless Starbucks and wandering through the Christmassy streets.

 

Now it’s dark, and the stars are peppering the sky. The moon is big, almost full; it reflects off the vast, sprawling mass of blistering white snow all around them, illuminating this strange and magnificent place. It feels magical, standing here.

 

Dan turns to look at Phil, smiling as he notices the specks of snow still dusting his cheeks and eyelashes.

 

“So, which photo do you think they’ll put on your ‘missing’ poster?” Dan asks, inclining his head towards the building.

 

They’re planning to explore it, obviously.

 

Phil laughs, squeezing Dan’s hand.

 

“Personally,” Dan continues, still slightly awestruck by all of this. “I hope they use one of my nakedbooths.”

 

“Me too.” Phil agrees quickly, turning to wink at him.

 

It makes Dan blush, and he looks away so Phil won’t notice.

 

“Come on then,” Dan says, sounding braver than he feels. “To our gruesome deaths.”

 

They start walking, hands still joined as they trudge with some difficulty through the snow. There’s a big entrance at the front of the building, and they head towards it, their footprints the only disruption in the vast, clean canvas that sprawls into the horizon.

 

“What happened on that Most Haunted episode?” Phil asks as they approach the caved-in door.

 

“Can’t remember,” Dan says truthfully, “I think I was only half watching. Probably just the usual stuff. Weird voices caught on their tape recorders and a couple of doors opening and closing.”

 

“Creepy,” Phil says, stepping into the dark hallway. It’s very black just inside of the doors. All Dan can see of Phil now are the silvery puffs of breath ghosting out of his mouth every few seconds. “Don’t let go of my hand. It’d be terrifying to lose you here.”

 

Dan smiles to himself secretly, glad Phil can’t see how warm and glowy that made Dan feel in the darkness.

 

“Okay,” Dan says quietly in response, and they start walking.

 

They head for a patch of light straight ahead of them, not really sure what they’re looking for. As they get closer, it becomes clear that there’s a pretty enormous hole in the roof up ahead, and that it's letting the light of the moon shine through.

 

Somewhat disappointingly, the corridor in which they stand looks fairly ordinary in the light. Dan’s not sure what he expected, really. Perhaps abandoned wheelchairs and bloody messages scribbled on the walls. Maybe a padded chamber with broken handcuffs and chains, or scratch marks scraped across the floor.

 

“It just looks like a dirtier, more dilapidated version of every hospital I've ever seen.” Phil says, sounding equally disappointed.

 

“Right?” Dan agrees, looking around at the mess. There’s rubble on the floor, making it tricky to know where to tread. “We should probably watch our step.”

 

He digs out his phone from his jeans pocket and flicks on the torch. Phil smiles at him, amused.

 

“Scared already?”

 

Dan flushes, cross. “Shut up. I just don’t wanna trip and impale myself in the dark.”

 

Phil laughs, tugging Dan’s arm as he wanders through a set of wide opn double doors straight ahead. “I’d save you, though.”

 

Dan squirms a little, a little thrill piercing through his stomach.

 

He snorts with derision, trying to appear unaffected. “Yeah, you’d be fantastic in an emergency.”

 

“Hey!” Phil says indignantly, laughing. “I have first aid training I’ll have you know.”

 

“Great!” Dan replies, rolling his eyes. “You can give me the Heimlich manoeuvre while I bleed to death from the stab wound.”

 

“I could carry you through the snow to safety.” Phil says, ignoring Dan’s sarcasm. “It’d be romantic.”

 

Dan swallows, his heart skipping a beat at the word. “It’d be romantic until you trip over too and we both freeze to death in the gallons of snow.”

 

“That’s pretty romantic too, in a way. Dying side by side.” Phil points out. “Think about Romeo and Juliet. Or Titanic.”

 

“Which one are you then, Rose or Jack?”

 

“Are you asking if I’d freeze to death for you, Dan?” Phil asks him, grinning. Dan rolls his eyes, but he can feel the heat resonating in his cheeks still. Phil nudges him in the shoulder, chuckling. “Any day.”

 

He laughs, breezily, but in truth Dan is too thrown by the statement to work out how to reply to it. Instead, he glances around the spot they’ve come to, frowning at it.

 

It’s not as dark anymore. There are too many holes in the roof, as well as big, broken windows lining the walls. The silky, pearlescent moonlight splashes through the cracks of this building, painting the walls and casting long, curling shadows across the floor. 

 

“It’s not very scary, is it?” Dan asks quietly, feeling strangely calm.

 

He'd expected a sinister vibe once they stepped inside of this place, but now that they're here, it just feels sort of lost and sad. It's undeniably beautiful too, in its own gothic way, but not scary in any sense. 

 

“I think we’re the only people left in the world.” Phil says, which is strange, but not for him.

 

Dan smiles, loving that he doesn’t even feel the need to question the peculiarity of the statement; he’s growing used to Phil’s quirks. He feels a sharp tug on his hand, spinning him round until he stumbles forwards into Phil’s chest.

 

He looks up, blushing, an apology on his lips. Phil is smiling down at him, clearly having intended this to happen, and Dan closes his mouth, not sure how to do anything except stare.

 

Phil’s eyes look pretty vividly blue on camera, but up close they’re a phenomenon all on their own. 

 

The longer he looks, the more colours he can see. Phil’s eyes are opalite crystals, crisp and hauntingly clear. The filtered moonlight snags on their edges, making them shimmer with hidden snatches of emerald, violet and gold.

 

Dan’s pretty sure he’s already stopped breathing, but Phil’s arms wind round him anyway, squeezing any leftover air from his lungs.

 

They stand that way for a timeless moment, echoes of silence filling the corridors of this place, deafening and perfect.

 

“Sometimes I think none of this can be real,” Phil whispers, the words sounding like a confession as he speaks them softly into the fur of Dan’s ear flap. “You’re too perfect to be real.”

 

Something claws at Dan’s throat, choking him, and he forces down a sob.

 

“I think that too,” Dan says with perfect honesty.

 

He wonders whether he should tell Phil how often that very thought occurs to him. He wonders if he should mention that when he and Phil are apart, Dan barely sleeps, trying so hard to stay awake in case he wakes up in the morning in his lonely bed in Wokingham, as estranged from AmazingPhil as he was a year ago, and all of this was some mad, cruelly vivid dream.

 

Phil won’t want to hear it, though. Who would?

 

He says he thinks it too, but it can’t possibly be the same. Dan’s mind is wicked, torturing him with the idea of Phil being a figment of his wild imagination almost daily. Phil might briefly entertain the idea that perhaps the Matrix is being a little too kind to him every now and then, but it can’t compare to Dan, agonising constantly over the possibility of the best thing in his life slipping through is fingers in a single, heartbreaking reality check.

 

“Good thing we’re both ghosts now,” Phil says after a while, leaning away from Dan at last. There’s a jokey smile on his lips, and Dan knows instinctively that the moment for truths and confessions is gone. “Now neither of us are real.”

 

Dan laughs, but it’s a little forced now.

 

“Shall we get out of here?” Dan asks, already heading back the way they came.

 

Phil follows, tethered to Dan’s hand still, and they make their way back through the thickening darkness, towards the entrance from whence they came.

 

Just before they reach the door, Phil pounces on Dan with a ‘Rah!’, making him screech in fear. His next instinct is obviously to murder Phil, who is laughing uproariously, running away at full speed from Dan’s glare.

 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Dan calls after him, breaking into a sprint.

 

Phil stumbles as he runs through the snow, shouting and laughing as he goes, pretending to be terrified of Dan catching him.

 

It doesn’t take long, because Phil is barely trying, and neither of them are particularly fast. Dan grabs a handful of snow, ignoring the way his bared fingertips burn with the cold, and he hurls it at Phil, which starts a mini snowball fight.

 

It ends when Phil tackles Dan at the waist, pushing him back into the snow as he struggles. They lie there, defeated and panting, Dan just accepting that he’s going to be getting the bus back to Phil’s freezing and wet.

 

“I hate you,” Dan says, still breathing heavily.

 

Phil is half on top of him, his head on Dan’s chest, still giggling. He looks up at Dan with a smile, a snowflake caught on his eyelash.

 

“Nah,” he says, sounding far too sure of himself. “You love me.”

 

Dan decides that the blood rushing into his cheeks is enough of an answer to this accusation, and Phil laughs at him, moving until he’s laid out on his back as well, their heads so close together that they almost touch.

 

“What’s your favourite constellation?” Dan asks after a while, marvelling up at the billions of scattered stars visible here.

 

“I don’t know many,” Phil says with a shrug. “I like to make my own.” He points up at the sky, smiling. “See that? That’s the spotted iguana.” He points somewhere else. “There’s old man Jenkins with his cane of strawberries.”

 

“What the fuck are you on about,” Dan says, laughing.

 

“I’m showing you the stars, Dan,” Phil says, laughing too. “Show some gratitude.”

 

Dan turns to him, shaking his head in fond amusement. “Thank you, Phil.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Phil says, turning to look at him.

 

There’s something fizzy and tangible in the air between them. Dan would never have believed in such a thing if he weren’t currently experiencing it.

 

Phil’s eyes are swallowing him whole again, and the flood of brilliant white surrounding them is making everything a little bit ethereal. He wants to kiss Phil so badly, but he’s never felt more anxious in his life.

 

His heart thrums in his throat, and his stomach is freewheeling madly, spiralling around itself.

 

He wishes he could just propel himself forwards those few inches, but he can’t summon the courage, suddenly.

 

And then, all of a sudden, he doesn’t have to. Phil’s lips are on his, cold and feather soft. Every thought obliterates itself from Dan’s brain, melting as quickly as the snow beneath their warm bodies.

 

He pushes back into Phil’s mouth, willing the moment to last forever, trying to scoop it up and store it away in the cavern of treasured memories where he keeps his times with Phil, so he can replay them later, when he’s alone, and remind himself this is real.

 

Phil kisses him for an eternity, but it still isn’t long enough.

 

He draws away and just stares, his brilliant eyes roving every inch of Dan’s face, as though he’s trying to memorise it too.

 

Eventually, they get up to leave, a general sense of time ticking on preventing them from just falling asleep where they lie. Dan supposes it must be cold, but he can’t feel it anymore.

 

“Hold on,” Phil says as Dan turns to leave.

 

He walks a few paces backwards, feet moving strangely, pressing indents into the snow. It takes a while for Dan to realise he’s writing something, drawing it into the white with the soles of his boots.

 

A minute later, he jumps away from the message, beaming with pride as he takes hold of Dan’s hand.

 

It must be the wind, stinging his eyes, Dan thinks as he reads what Phil has written. He can’t be this much of a sap, surely. He’s never believed in this sort of romantic nonsense. Not really.

 

“Just thought we should leave a mark,” Phil says quietly, smiling.

 

“It will melt,” Dan says, because he can’t help it. He bites his lip, feeling on the verge of some kind of emotional overflow.

 

“The snow will,” Phil says with a shrug. “The message won’t.”

 

Dan turns then, burying his face into Phil’s chest so he doesn’t see the tears spilling over from his watery eyes.

 

They turn away after a while, their hands joined once more, trudging back across their footprints towards the road. Dan casts one final glance behind him before it’s too late, trying to capture the image of this place and burn it into his memory:

 

A dark, crumbling brick mansion, surrounded by blistering white snow. The stars, pouring their radiance over the floor, picking out the two sets of footprints, the indents of Dan and Phil’s bodies, and the words ‘I love Dan’, pressed firmly into the snow.

 

* * *

 

7pm

 

There’s a great view over the fancy rooftops of Central London from their hotel room window. It’s a panoramic view; wall-to-wall glass. The best part, though, is that they’re able to look out at it from where they are now, lounging in their own, private Jacuzzi.

  
Dan’s got Phil sprawled on top of him, his back to Dan’s chest as Dan holds him round the waist. His other hand is wrapped around Phil’s cock, and he’s moving it slowly, running his fingers over the length of him, occasionally trailing them through the hair at the base.

  
Phil is breathing in short, stuttery little gasps, sometimes twitching with the sensations. They’ve been at this for quite a while now, Dan’s pretty sure - half an hour at least.

 

Dan’s taking his time with Phil, because they have plenty of it. They have all night to be together, and there’s no point in rushing anymore. It’s not like it used to be, having sex with Phil. In years past, there was a countdown to the following morning, always. There was an imminent sense of doom on the horizon, pressuring Dan to hurry things along before dawn broke over the next day, and their birthdays were over, signalling the end for another half a year.

 

It makes him frown, thinking of that dark time.

 

“Dan?” Phil gasps out, his hips pushing forwards into Dan’s touch.

 

“Mm?” Dan replies, placing a gentle kiss just behind Phil’s ear.

 

“I was thinking,” Phil manages, sounding like he’s struggling for coherence.

 

Dan chuckles, biting the lobe of Phil’s ear. “Oh, were you?”

 

“I might… also have something I want to try,” Phil says, his words tumbling out in a rush.

 

He moans then, hand gripping Dan’s thigh under the water, and obliterating any chance at responding properly from Dan’s brain for a few seconds.

 

After he’s recovered enough to speak, he drags his lips over the shell of Phil’s ear, speeding up his hand movements a little. “Tell me.”

 

Phil bites his lip, letting out a small groan as he pushes his hips forwards again. “Fuck, okay.”

 

Dan giggles, continuing at the new, speedier pace.

 

“We talked about it once, I think,” Phil gasps out, his fingers digging into Dan’s thigh now. “About like… changing it up.”

 

Dan frowns, confused by the terminology. “Changing it up?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Phil says, nodding emphatically. “Fuck, Dan I’m gonna come.”

 

He moans again, and the sound of it brings an absurd blush to Dan’s cheeks. He rolls his eyes at himself, wondering if he’ll ever manage to be chill in situations like this with Phil Lester, now that they’re literally married.

 

He captures Phil’s earlobe between his teeth again, nibbling softly as he starts to increase the tempo of his hand. “So, come.”

 

“Is that gross?” Phil asks, sounding so close to the edge that Dan's response is likely not to even matter. “Like… in the hot tub?”

 

Dan considers this for a moment, his annoyingly logical brain flying to a future conversation with the hotel management, trying to explain through his own mortified perspiration why the hot tub water is going to need to be changed.

 

“Wait,” Dan says quickly, releasing his grip on Phil.

 

The noise of protest Phil makes is practically inhuman. Without a word, Dan slides out from underneath Phil, pushing him back into the seat and climbing on top of him.

 

“What are you-”

 

Dan takes a deep breath in, not quite sure how the fuck he’s going to do this. He’s still feeling a little merry from the champagne dancing in his bloodstream; hopefully it’s not addling his mind too much to be able to do what he has planned.

 

He submerges his head underneath the water, and his immediate first thought is that he cannot see a damn thing. Blindly, he takes ahold of Phil’s cock again, and using his own hand to orientate himself, manages to slip his mouth over the tip.

 

There’s a muffled cacophony of noise, quietened by the water filling Dan’s ears. If he had to guess, he’d say it was probably Phil saying ‘fuck’ a lot. He wastes no time, feeling his lungs beginning to protest already, so he sinks down as far as he can go, praying that Phil had not been exaggerating how close to coming he was a moment ago.

 

Phil’s hands find his shoulders, his wrinkled fingers pressing indents into the skin there. Dan sucks around him, his eyes beginning to smart from all the chlorine. He shuts them, concentrating on just bobbing his head up and down, though in truth it’s all a heck of a lot more difficult underwater, as moving even a fraction takes twice as long as normal.

 

Phil’s hips are twitching, which is always a sign of him being right on the edge; it’s a damned miracle too, in Dan’s eyes, as he’s sure his lungs are about to give out from the lack of oxygen.

 

This was, on the whole, probably quite a bad idea.

 

Right then, just as this thought occurs, Phil comes in his mouth, and it takes Dan completely by surprise. He tries to swallow, but somehow inhales through his nose, sucking in a great deal of water at the same time.

 

Choking violently, he resurfaces, his lungs furious with him for the onslaught of various liquids. He coughs and splutters, gripping on to the side of the tub in order to prevent causing he or Phil further injury. After around a minute, Dan realises he can hear the unmistakeable sound of Phil’s laughter over the noise of what are surely his own last moments on this planet.

 

He gathers himself, finding oxygen once more, and manages to calm the coughing enough to send Phil a deathly glare.

 

Unfortunately, this only seems to make Phil laugh harder, and so Dan just rolls his eyes, focusing on getting his breathing under control.

 

“I hate you,” Dan says, his voice ridiculously hoarse.

 

“You twat,” Phil says, tears in his eyes from laughing so much. “Did you think that would actually work?!”

 

Dan splashes him, flabbergasted. “If you thought it wouldn’t work, why the fuck did you let me do it?!”

 

“You didn’t give me a chance to stop you!” Phil cries, leaning forwards and grabbing hold of Dan by the waist. He’s still grinning inanely, but there’s a fondness in his eyes that is softening Dan’s indignation. “You’re ridiculous, but that was still somehow amazing.”

 

Dan makes a sort of ‘hmmph’ noise, coughing a little more, but allows Phil to draw him back through the water until he’s nestled in Phil’s lap.

 

Phil kisses his nose, still chuckling, and then moves down to press his lips against Dan’s. At first, Dan refuses to kiss him back, but melts eventually - as if he could ever actually keep that up.

 

Phil kisses him until the rigidity of Dan’s muscles has all but evaporated into the warm, delicious water in which they’re submerged, and eventually Dan pulls away, sighing.

 

“God, I’m a twat.” He complains, reaching up to push his fingers through Phil’s damp hair. “I was doing so well at being all sexy.”

 

“To be fair, it was pretty hot until you choked.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, pushing Phil’s face away with his hand. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

 

Phil laughs, and Dan falls into the crinkles around the corners of his eyes, completely forgetting how to possibly remain annoyed at such a beautiful person.

 

“What were you saying?” Dan asks, feeling a little dazed by the way Phil is looking at his mouth. “Before all the… near death experiences. Something about… changing up?”

 

Phil smirks, leaning forwards to kiss Dan gently. “Mm. What do you think?”

 

Dan frowns, still not understanding. “Changing how?”

 

A rare blush blooms in Phil’s cheeks, and Dan stares as the colour spreads, mesmerised by the sight. “Well… what would you think about trying out… switching roles?”

 

Dan looks at him blankly. He reaches behind Phil’s head for the champagne bottle, which is still a quarter full, more or less. He takes a glug, flipping Phil’s words over in his mind, searching them for meaning.

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

Phil rolls his eyes, swiping the bottle from Dan and taking a sip. “I want you to fuck me, Dan.”

 

Dan’s glad that he is no longer holding the champagne, because it would definitely be at the bottom of the hot tub right now if he were. Heat blazes up his chest, radiating in his cheeks so fiercely that he has to look away from Phil’s deadpan gaze.

 

“Um,” he manages, King of eloquence, as ever. “You- I mean, you want- um, really?”

 

Phil smirks, taking another sip from the bottle. “Interested?”

 

Honestly, it’s not like the idea has never even _occurred_ to Dan before now. He’s thought about it many times, in fact. In great detail. He imagines, obviously, that it would be incredible. He can picture Phil’s expressions, the sounds he might make, the way his body would feel as Dan pushed into it.

 

But he’s never considered actually asking for such a thing. There’s just been no need for it, to be blunt. Dan is very, very happy with the way he and Phil have sex, and he has had no desire to ‘rock the boat’ of that happiness, as it were.

 

But if Phil is asking… that confuses things quite a bit.

 

Dan nods silently, swallowing what feels like his own tongue. His body is suddenly alight with nerves, and he feels somehow self-conscious, even though he’s sat beside Phil in a hot tub, butt naked, his wet hair probably plastered to his head in a very unattractive way.

 

“Yes,” he chokes out, wondering how he can project just how extreme his interest in this particular area is with words alone. “I think that’s a bit of an understatement.”

 

Phil chuckles, his cheeks still retaining a splotch of pink. “Good. Let’s do it under that massive mirror. I want you to see.”

 

Something strange happens to every single one of Dan’s muscles then; he watches blearily as Phil stands up, the water cascading off his tall, gorgeous frame in an Adonis-like scene. Phil hops out of the tub, grabbing one of the towels they'd brought with them before walking carelessly over towards the bed. Dan, in comparison, is completely unable to move. His spine has jellified, and he’s sure that were he to try to rest any weight on his limbs, they’d give out from underneath him.

 

He swallows again, able only to stare as Phil tucks the towel around his waist and clambers onto the bed, swigging still from the bottle clutched in one hand.

 

“Coming?” Phil calls, seeming very excited all of a sudden.

 

Yes, Dan thinks to himself, closing his eyes and trying to calm his frantic nerves. Yes, he will be.

 

*

 

Dan doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s been on top of Phil plenty of times, but this feels different in a way he cannot explain.

 

Phil’s body is pliant and malleable in a way Dan has never felt it. Where Phil’s kisses are usually ferocious and eager, now he is soft and willing beneath the onslaught of Dan’s lips, just allowing himself to be kissed.

 

There’s a pounding sound reverberating in Dan’s ears; it’s only after a while that he realises it’s his own heart beating. He feels like he’s doing everything wrong, somehow. Phil is not responding how he normally would, and it’s throwing Dan off course. His hands skitter over Phil’s bare skin, not sure where to land.

 

Every time Phil touches him, he jumps, not expecting it. He’s so afraid of not being able to do this right that he can’t even think about enjoying himself. This has to be good for Phil, it has to be everything he wants.

 

If Dan can’t do this for him, then what kind of a boy has Phil married?

 

“Dan,” Phil whispers, wrapping his arms around Dan’s neck. “Hey, where have you gone?”

 

Dan frowns at him, confused. “I’m here.”

 

“You’re overthinking, I can tell.” Phil says knowingly, smiling as though it’s an endearing quality. “Do you not want to do this?”

 

Dan shakes his head fervently, hating the question. “No! I do, I really do.”

 

“Is it making you nervous?” Phil asks, untangling one of his arms in order to trail a hand down Dan’s chest. He stops when his hand covers Dan’s frantic heart. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

 

Dan closes his eyes, wishing that his body would stop betraying his tumultuous emotions. “Um, I think I’m just… overthinking it. Like you said.”

 

Phil nods, a tiny crease appearing between his brows.

 

This is not how it’s supposed to go, Dan thinks, suppressing a groan of frustration. Phil isn’t supposed to be concerned right now, he’s supposed to be in the throes of ecstasy, courtesy of his new husband.

 

“It’s fine, I’ll get over it.” Dan says briskly, leaning back down to press his lips to Phil’s.

 

Phil pushes against him, gently. “Hey, let’s just take it one thing at a time.”

 

He smiles, the sight as reassuring as it always is, to Dan, who sighs again in frustration, wishing he weren’t such an idiot about this kind of thing. Phil rolls away from him a little, the top half of his body twisting as he reaches towards the bedside table to grab the bottle still sitting there.

 

He holds it up to Dan with a mischievous smile. “Want me to do it?”

 

The idea is certainly intriguing. It takes all of two seconds of picturing Phil fingering himself before the images become quite literally too much for Dan in his current state. He nods fervently at Phil’s question, biting his lip as he sits back on his own haunches.

 

“Oh,” Phil says, sounding genuinely surprised. He giggles a little, flipping the cap of the lube open. “Didn’t think you’d say yes to that, honestly.” There’s a pause wherein Phil pours a generous amount of lube onto his own fingers; Dan watches with an open mouth, wondering idly if this is the type of thing that makes people spontaneously combust. Phil’s eyes flick to his, and he tosses the bottle of lube aside. “You like to watch, Dan?”

 

Dan flushes instantly. He can feel the redness covering his chest and neck; Phil seems to notice too, his blue eyes tracking the colour with a ravenous kind of hunger.

 

Then, Phil is spreading his legs, one either side of where Dan kneels like a trained puppy, eyes trained on Phil’s hand. Phil takes hold of his length for a moment, giving it a few gentle strokes before dipping his hand lower, his slender wrist curling inwards as his fingers find the place he’s searching for.

 

Phil’s sharp intake of breath makes Dan jump. He glances up at Phil’s face, noting his concentration, the crease of his brow. His eyelids are fluttering as his fingers rub against the spot; Dan just looks on in silent awe.

 

“H-how does it feel?” Dan finds himself whispering, mostly because his mind will not shut up, and hearing Phil’s voice is the most calming thing he could imagine.

 

Phil’s eyes latch onto his, and he grins, letting his head fall back against the covers as he continues.

 

“You know how it feels,” Phil says, his voice roughened with something that sounds a lot like lust.

 

Embarrassingly, Dan lets out a small squeak, and a shiver resounds through him. At that moment, Phil chooses to persevere, pushing two fingers inside of himself without warning.

 

A groan spills from his lips, and the thought occurs to Dan that he might actually die from the anticipation alone. He realises, belatedly, that he’s been neglecting his own hardness, which is, at this point, begging him for attention.

 

He wraps a hand around himself with caution, very aware that he cannot allow himself to come yet under any circumstances, despite the delicious and sinful display unfolding right before his eyes.

 

Phil’s fingers are torturously slow as they drag in and out, as if he’s deliberately stringing himself along. He alternates between staring straight at Dan and looking upwards; it takes Dan a stupidly long time to realise that, when doing the latter, he’s staring at his own reflection.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Dan whispers, glancing up into the mirror above their heads.

 

From his vantage point on the bed, Phil looks so hot that it’s overwhelming, but seeing him head to toe, sprawled out from a bird's eye view is something wholly other.

 

Phil locks eyes with him in the mirror, and the sight of this alone has Dan dangerously close to the edge. He forces himself to release his grip on his own erection, for fear that any more stimulation will push him beyond his control.

 

“Dan,” Phil gasps out, letting his eyes flutter closed. He adds a third finger now, not shy about how deep he pushes them in. “Dan, go sit over there.” Phil instructs, breathing heavily. He opens his eyes, staring at Dan with a manic intensity. “Against the headboard.”

 

Bewildered, Dan scrambles to do as he’s told, apparently still helpless in the face of Phil Lester’s ridiculous seductive qualities even after all these years.

 

He pushes his back up against the headboard, getting his eyes back on Phil as soon as humanly possible. Phil is moaning again, his hips canting upwards as he continues fucking himself on his own fingers.

 

Then, with seemingly inhuman ability, he draws his hands away, taking a few deep breaths before sitting upright again. He turns to Dan, hair mussed and eyes glazed, fixated on him with an altogether predatory air.

 

He crawls towards Dan without a word, straddling him; his hands push themselves into Dan’s curls, and he brings their mouths together, messy, all heat and friction.

 

“Ready?” Phil asks, mouthing along Dan’s jaw.

 

Dan just nods, sure only air would come out if he attempted a verbal response.

 

In truth, he feels far from ready, but he doesn’t think there’s anything that could actually prepare him for what he’s about to experience. He swallows, hoping that his wildly beating heart isn’t giving Phil any doubts about how badly Dan wants this.

 

Phil draws back a little, staring down into Dan’s eyes for a final assessment. He smiles, leaning in to capture Dan’s lip between his teeth for a moment.

 

“Relax,” he purrs, then reaches down, long fingers curling around Dan’s cock, positioning it.

 

Dan bites his lip, fingers pressing into the taper of Phil’s waist. He feels Phil begin to lower himself, and sucks in a breath as he feels the slick entrance come into contact with the head of his cock.

 

There seems to be no time to catch his breath. Phil sinks down onto him without a hint of hesitance. Dan slips into him as if he were hand crafted for to fit into Phil this way. All he can feel are the excruciatingly hot, tight walls fluttering around him, drawing him deeper until he's sure that they can't possibly be any more connected.

 

“Ohh, fuck,” Phil chokes out, his forehead falling to meet Dan’s.

 

His eyes are shut, and he’s clinging so hard to Dan’s shoulders that it feels like he’s pressing bruises, but Dan couldn’t care less about that. His whole body has begun to tremble, vibrating with a pure, raw kind of bliss. It's nothing he's ever felt. He's had sex with girls before, but to compare the two would be sinful. This is more, in every sense. It's visceral, it's intoxicating, it's intimate and wholesome, it's a feeling of everything being utterly perfect, for one infinite moment scratched onto the broad scope of time.  

 

He’s _inside_ of Phil right now.

 

Dan can feel every part of him, from the blistering heat radiating off his pale skin, to the way his body trembles as he accepts Dan into it. Everything has become a surreal haze of connection and euphoria. He rocks his hips upwards, trying to chase the feeling as far as it will go.

 

He doesn’t expect the noise Phil makes - a guttural, breathy sound, like he’s been shot. It startles Dan, who is initially unsure of what it means, but Phil just moans in protest at his hesitation.

 

“Dan, do that again,” Phil hisses, and this time it’s Dan that lets out a moan.

 

He rocks his hips up another time, met by a litany of curse words from the man in his lap. Phil starts to move then, rolling his hips down, slowly at first, and then a little faster, whimpers tumbling from his slack mouth.

 

Dan wants to meet his movements, but he’s caught up in the way Phil looks right now, eyelids fluttering, his lip caught between his teeth.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Phil is saying, his voice broken and pleading. “Dan…”

 

He’s moving a lot faster now, hips lifting and slamming back down over Dan’s cock, the slick sound of it reddening the tips of Dan’s ears. He’s so close now, not only from the sensation of Phil slipping over him, but from the sight of him too.

 

That on its own would be enough to tip him over the edge, he’s sure.

 

A voice in Dan’s mind whispers to him out of nowhere, reminding him, belatedly, that a far better view of this very thing is available to him if he just looks up.

 

He raises his eyes to stare into the mirror above their heads, choking slightly on his own disbelief as the sight fills his field of vision. Phil throws his head back as well, inspired, and groans wickedly at the sight.

 

His movements become sloppy and erratic, using Dan’s shoulders to steady him as he spears himself on Dan’s cock over and over, eyes locked on the reflection of this sordid act above their heads.

 

Dan is beyond coherent thought at this point; he just watches, helpless, as Phil fucks himself. All Dan can do is hang onto him.

 

“Oh, _shit_ , Dan I’m gonna come-”

 

Something takes ahold of Dan then, seizing him head to toe. Phil asked him for this; he needs to make it perfect. He needs to drive Phil mad. Without letting his brain overthink it, Dan shoves against Phil’s chest. It’s not a hard shove, but as he’s not expecting it, Phil topples backwards, falling back onto the mattress. Dan goes with him, slipping out of Phil for a moment, but crawling back on top of him so fast that it barely even matters.

 

“What-” Phil tries to say, but Dan just shoves their mouths together, shutting him up before he can ask what the fuck is happening.

 

Dan pushes back into him with ease now, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. It’s been a while since he’s had to do this to anyone, but that does not mean he’s forgotten how.

 

He snaps his hips back and forth, finding Phil’s wrists and pinning them either side of his head.

 

Phil moans against his mouth, trying desperately to keep up, and it’s so arousing that Dan knows he has moments before this is all over. Phil struggles feebly against his grip, winding his legs around Dan as he fucks into Phil with all he has.

 

Dan’s mouth moves to bite at his jaw, and as Phil’s breath hitches, Dan whispers:

 

“Look up.”

 

Phil groans, cursing again, and then he’s coming, one hand pulling free of Dan’s grip in order to clutch at his back, nails raking down his spine. Dan follows moments later, unable to hold it off any longer, and buries his face in Phil’s neck as he floods him with his release.

 

Phil shivers beneath him, spent and limp now, his breaths shaky. Dan rolls off him carefully, panting, and stares up at Phil's exhausted reflection. 

 

"You are," Phil says, his chest inflating rapidly, "the best person in the world."

 

* * *

 

Vidcon parties are no stranger to Dan, but it doesn’t make them any less overwhelming. Each year they seem to be larger and more extravagant, a fresh batch of wider-eyed, younger 'creators' milling about, utterly overwhelmed and still reeling in the face of their success.

 

The old, familiar YouTubers are attend each year too, of course, and the newbies stare at them from across the room, dumbstruck that they’re in the same room as these relics, probably. A few of them down enough vodka cokes to summon the courage to come and say hi, but mostly they stay on the fringes of the space, pointing at the Shane Dawson's and Tyler Oakley's as they whisper excitedly amongst one another.

 

This year is no exception.

 

Dan smiles at all the starers, trying his best to seem friendly and welcoming, but he’s sure he can't totally hide how weary he is growing of it. The tour has been fantastic, and very eventful, but he is wrung dry from it at this point. He’s an empty shell, or at least he will be once he’s back in England, in two days time.

 

Vidcon is his and Phil’s last stop on the US tour, and Dan cannot wait for it to be over. He’s had the most fun he’s probably ever had in his life running around the states with his favourite person, performing sell out shows to screaming crowds, but he’s exhausted now, and all he can think about is closing the door behind he and Phil back in London, crawling into bed, and pulling Phil in beside him.

 

They’re not going to go outside for at least a week after they’ve gotten back, Dan has decided.

 

“Dan, you don’t appear to have a drink in your hand,” Louise says brightly, tutting at him.

 

Dan smiles at her tiredly. “No, I’m um, laying off the alcohol at the moment.”

 

“Sexy and smart,” Louise says, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “I don’t think your good influence is rubbing off on Phil, though.”

 

Dan snorts with laughter, turning to see where Phil has gotten to. He’s talking to a group of people, only some of which Dan recognises. He’s gesturing wildly with the cocktail glass in his hand, and smiling a lot – Dan’s fairly sure he’s more than a little tipsy.

 

“He deserves to let loose a little,” Dan says, his heart glowing with warmth.

 

The people listening to Phil are obviously enamoured with him. They hang off his every word, laughing at whatever anecdote he’s telling them. Dan wants to walk over and snog him in front of them all, to show them, smugly, that Phil is his, and now will be forever.

 

Like he’s heard, Phil turns to catch Dan’s eye, his sentence trailing off in the middle. He grins widely when he sees Dan watching him, and turns from his entourage with a half-formed excuse.

 

In a second, Dan is being enveloped in Phil’s arms, and there are lips pushing against his cheek, again and again. Dan laughs, but he can’t help but think about Louise, obviously startled at the sight of such affection.

 

“You’re so pretty,” Phil is whining, a little pout on his lips. Dan notices, belatedly, that Phil has a shiny, firework cocktail stirrer tucked behind his ear. “Isn’t he so pretty, Lou? S’not fair.”

 

Louise chuckles, her cheeks a little pink. “He knows he’s gorgeous.”

 

Dan glares at her, probably not seeming very menacing with Phil draped over him, still pressing kisses to his face.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Dan, can we go upstairs?” Phil asks, his voice an unmistakeable invitation.

 

Dan reddens instantly, very aware of Louise’s presence. “Um, you- you don’t want to spend more time at the party?”

 

Phil shakes his head, then, to Dan’s mortification, takes his earlobe in between his teeth. Dan yelps, pushing him off gently, his face flooding with heat.

 

“Come back to the room with me,” Phil whines, trying to tug on Dan’s arm. “It’s boring here.”

 

“Uh,” Dan says, mind traitorously blank with indecision.

 

Phil sighs heavily, then leans in to press his lips to Dan’s. He can do nothing but let it happen, though he feels several pairs of eyes on him, and feels - probably erroneously - like he can hear a general hush descending over the room.

 

In reality, when Phil eventually releases him, the chatter and noise of the party is continuing undisturbed. Phil smirks at him, his eyes growing hooded as he sways a little on the spot.

 

“Meet me in our room,” he says in a low voice, one that pierces through Dan like a thin, vibrating needle.

 

He’s heading for the doors at the edge of the room before Dan can think of anything to say in response, and then he’s just left, bereft and utterly speechless, Louise standing at his side.

 

“Am I… missing something, here?” Louise pipes up after a moment, her voice a pitch higher than normal.

 

Dan swallows, his eyes falling closed. “So… me and Phil are kind of… a thing now.”

 

He purposefully doesn’t let himself look at Louise’s reaction, but her stunned silence is enough. He sighs, looking heavenward. Christ, he would do a lot for a strong drink right now.

 

He knew it would be difficult, telling people. But he never considered how awkward it might be-

 

“Dan,” Louise says quietly, breaking him out of his inner spiral. She slips an arm around his shoulders, warm and comforting. “That’s so great. I’m ridiculously happy for you.” He turns to look her in the eye; she’s smiling softly, and it melts the tension from his muscles. “For both of you.”

 

Dan hesitates, feeling on the verge of tears for some reason. Louise seems genuinely ecstatic. There’s love and kindness pouring out of her, drowning Dan where he stands.

 

He’s not sure why he tells her the next bit, but if he had to guess, it might be because he knows that, on some level, she gets them.

 

Out of everyone that’s known he and Phil, Louise might – in her own subdued way – understand them the most. She doesn’t say a lot, but she observes. She treats them as individuals, but she knows without question that there isn’t one without the other.

 

Once or twice, Dan has had to catch himself mid-ramble, when talking to Louise about Phil. For some reason, Louise seems to just… know.

 

And she’s never said a word.

 

 

“We’re getting married.”

 

Her thickly fringed baby blues widen in surprise, and she covers her mouth with one sparkly manicured hand.

 

She’s wrapping him in a hug before Dan can stop her, and he just laughs, a little hysterically, into her delicious smelling shoulder. He breathes her in, feeling her blonde curls tickle his nose.

 

He feels drunk with the rush of just saying it aloud, he realises, swaying in her arms. He realises, belatedly, that she’s the first person either of them have told.

 

When she pulls away from him, Louise is sniffing, her eyes damp. “Oh, Dan.”

 

She shakes her head, smiling widely.

 

“Mental, isn’t it?”

 

She nods, laughing, and wipes the moisture from her eyes. “You’re going to make each other so happy.”

 

“Hopefully,” Dan shrugs, grimacing a little. “We haven’t been great at it so far.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine a more perfect couple,” Louise says with a shrug, her eyes still misty with emotion. “He’s a lucky boy.”

 

Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. “He really isn’t, trust me.”

 

Louise steps towards him, taking Dan’s face in her warm, soft hands.

 

“Listen to me, Daniel,” she says, her voice taking on a motherly tone that never fails to throw Dan off course. “Phil Lester is not the kind of man that would fall for someone that doesn’t deserve him. Even if you’ve made some mistakes, even if you’re not convinced of how special you are yet.” Dan tries to pull away from her, embarrassed by how accurate the aim of her words are, but she holds on tight. “You’re the one he chose. He wouldn’t do that unless he believed you were the one.”

 

“I’m trying to be everything he should have,” Dan admits, feeling his throat tighten.

 

“Dan honey,” Louise says, brushing his fringe from his eyes. “You already are.”

 

* * *

 

10pm 

 

“Mmmm,” Dan moans, eyes fluttering in pleasure. “Fuck, Phil this is perfection.”

 

Phil chuckles at him, stealing a chip from his plate. “I think you’re having a better time right now than when you had your dick in my mouth a minute ago.”

 

“Don’t let it get to you, Phil,” Dan sighs, stuffing another chip into his mouth with relish. “These are insanely good fries.”

 

“I’m suddenly so hungry.” Phil says, tearing himself a slice of pizza. “Room service was a good idea.”

 

“Well we haven’t eaten all day, really,” Dan says, “apart from a few strawberries.”

 

Phil giggles, remembering. “There’s some left I think.”

 

“Dessert’s sorted.” Dan says, winking at him. “We could always take them home tomorrow if we don’t get through them all.”

 

Phil looks at him, his expression unreadable. He looks mischievous, as though he’s hiding something.

 

Dan stops eating the fries, confused. “What?”

 

“So, um,” Phil says, swallowing his bite of pizza. “I might have another surprise for you.”

 

Dan raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“I got you a wedding present.” Phil tells him, eyes shining as he his teeth sink into another gooey bite.

 

For some reason, Dan feels nervous. “Okay…”

 

Phil finishes the slice of pizza, reaching for a napkin to wipe the grease off his hands. He turns to Dan, struggling to maintain his serious expression.

 

“We’re not going home tomorrow.”

 

Dan just blinks at him, not understanding. “What?" He tries to remember if he's forgetting some big, important event that would mean he and Phil can't return home after their wedding, but he comes up with nothing. "Where are we going?"

 

"Well, according to all our social media, we'll be in the Isle of Mann with my parents." Phil says matter of factly, still smirking. 

 

This only serves to confuse Dan even further. "What're you on about?" He asks, getting a little worked up from how little sense this is making. "We already went to see your rents up North. Last week! So we could have the wedding today!" 

 

Phil giggles at his reaction, finding this all endlessly amusing apparently, though he's clearly gone insane. "Yeah, I know. But the subscribers don't know we went last week. The subscribers are gonna think we went today." 

 

"What?"

 

“We can post photos, tweet silly things that happened while we were in the Isle of Mann, that kind of thing." Phil explains, sounding a little smug at how much he's thought this through.

 

"Why on earth would we do that?" Dan asks, feeling something brewing underneath Phil's words now, something big, though he can't tell what.

 

"So nobody knows where we really are,” Phil tells him, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

 

"Which is...?"

 

"Well, tomorrow, our first stop is the airport, obviously." 

 

Dan stares at Phil like he’s gone insane. “The airport?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

Dan waits for him to elaborate, eyes wide. “Uh, why?"

 

“Well we could try swimming to Japan, but I think as we both hate exercise with a passion, we should probably get on a plane.”

 

Phil steals another chip off Dan’s plate, munching it with a smile.

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, his voice a husk of itself, “are you serious?”

 

Phil nods, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Happy wedding day.”

 

Dan launches himself at Phil, spilling chips all over the bed as he goes. Phil squeaks in surprise, but allows himself to be kissed, accepting Dan’s weight on top of him without complaint.

 

“Oh my fucking God, I cannot believe this,” Dan says, his mind blank with the shock of the information. “How the fuck did you manage to do this without telling me?!”

 

Phil tries to answer, but Dan silences any attempt at a response with more kisses, unable to process any real information at the moment.

 

“I don’t have any of my stuff here,” Dan says, mind reeling, “I don’t even have any clothes with me.”

 

“I took care of it,” Phil manages to say in the snatches of time he gets to breathe between Dan’s ferocious kissing. “Adrian and Martyn went back to the flat after the ceremony. Adrian packed you a bag and Martyn packed me one.”

 

“Fuck,” Dan says, marvelling, “this is really happening?”

 

Phil nods excitedly, and Dan shakes him by the shoulders.

 

“We’re going to fucking _Japan_?”

 

“Yeah,” Phil confirms, laughing as he’s jostled about. “Happy?”

 

Instead of answering, Dan chooses to peel the covers off Phil’s body and begin running his tongue over every part he can see. Phil gasps in surprise, fingers scrabbling at Dan’s shoulders, but allows it to happen nonetheless.

 

As he mouths at the skin covering Phil’s waist, Dan pauses, glancing up at him. “I’m the luckiest person in the world, aren’t I?”

 

Phil laughs, pushing a hand into Dan’s curls, smiling softly. “Don’t be stupid. That’s obviously me.”

 

* * *

 

“Give us PINOF spoilers, says Rachel,” Phil reads, leaning forwards to scan the chat.

 

Dan chuckles beside him, winking. “It’s a funny one.”

 

Phil glances across at Dan, smiling. “It’s pretty good, yeah.”

 

In truth, they haven’t filmed it yet. They’re waiting, because they know it’s going to be a little bit different this year.

 

It’s been one of the longest ongoing discussions between them – whether or not to tell the fans about their new… status.

 

The conversation is generally fairly predictable each time one of them brings it up, but they never actually manage to reach a conclusion. Or, they hadn’t managed to until last week.

 

Whenever they speak about potentially telling people, Phil always insists that it doesn’t matter to him. He says that he used to make him sad, the way that Dan would always strive to hide the true nature of their relationship, but that it’s not the same anymore.

 

He says that now that Dan is his, for certain, he feels no need for anyone else to be a part of what they are.

 

For Dan, this doesn’t feel good enough.

 

Because all he remembers is denial. He remembers years of hiding, of burying his true feelings until he loathed himself, and became a miserable, bitter shell.

 

He doesn’t see why he should have to hide anything anymore, now that he’s finally, _finally_ reached happiness with Phil, and they’re together, at last.

 

So, eventually, after many long, long conversations, they’d agreed.

 

They’d wait a while. Until they were settled, in their new house, with no big, looming tours or announcements on the horizon. Over time, they’d prepare their subscribers for it, dropping subtle hints as the months went on. They’d allow themselves to be more comfortable with one another on camera. They wouldn’t edit out the flirtatious comments or the touchy-feely moments in the way they normally would.

 

If fans noticed something suspicious, Dan and Phil wouldn’t deny accusations.

 

They wouldn’t discourage rumours, and they would stop trying to dismiss the idea that in one, two, or ten years time, they would still be living together, possibly with a dog.

 

And on the night they film PINOF 9, they will do or say something that will confirm it for everyone. Maybe they’ll kiss. Maybe they’ll answer a phan-related question.

 

Maybe they’ll just straight out say it.

 

It doesn’t really matter how it comes out. The important thing is that, after all this time, it will.

 

Phil is rambling about something else now, springing off another question from the chat box. He talks with vivacity, his mouth curling up as he amuses himself with his own words.

 

“Okay, I’m gonna stop talking about houseplants now,” Phil says, laughing. “Dan, you read a question.”

 

Dan snorts with laughter, leaning close to the screen. “Uhh, let’s see.” He scrolls through the premium messages, trying to find something easy and light hearted. “Phanlantis wants us to change the light flickering above us.”

 

Phil laughs, standing up immediately. “Watch my awesome handyman skills.”

 

“Call us out guys, wow,” Dan says, smiling in amusement as he watches Phil climb up on the sofa to reach the light above them. “To be honest, we’d literally never do any home maintenance if it weren’t for the fact that we know you guys will shame us if we don’t, so thanks.”

 

“Yeah, this light has been doing this for like two weeks,” Phil says, chuckling.

 

“It just needs a slap,” Dan says, watching Phil steady himself with one hand on the ceiling as he surveys the light. “I’ve done it before. Just hit it and it’ll behave.”

 

“That sounds dirty,” Phil laughs, and Dan places his forehead in his palm.

 

“I’m sorry on his behalf,” Dan tells the camera, smiling. He pauses to read the chat as Phil swats at the flickering light. People are typing very fast all of a sudden, using lots of caps lock. Dan frowns, trying to read what they’re saying, “What are you guys freaking out about?”

 

Phil stops tampering with the light for a moment, looking down at Dan. “Hm?”

 

“They’re saying ‘it’s a date’, ‘it looks like a date’.” Dan tells him, still bewildered. A premium message flashes up, and Dan clicks it with a fair amount of trepidation.

 

_What is written on Phil’s hip???_

_They have tattoos!_

 

_What are the numbers someone zoom in omg_

Dan swallows as he reads the words, feeling the blood drain from his face.

 

Phil is peering over his shoulder already, and Dan can feel the moment he tenses, a gasp inhaled through his teeth.

 

Dan glances at Phil, his mind whirling as he tries to think of a response. He makes a split second decision, pulling Phil back down to sit beside him and smiling.

 

“So you spotted Phil’s new ink, I see.” Dan says, making Phil whip around to face him. Dan leans back as far as he can on the sofa, still smiling to himself. He pulls up the hem of his jumper, exposing his left hip, where the numbers 30/01 are written still. “We’re turning into actual edgelords right before your eyes.”

 

“Dan,” Phil whispers, his hand held to his face so that the camera won’t see.

 

Dan glances at him, but doesn’t pay attention to his concern. “We got some tats, yeah. Don’t unsubscribe.”

 

Phil’s hand falls from his face, but he looks shellshocked, too stricken to speak.

 

Dan leans forwards again, sighing as the chat speeds past at a pace he can’t hope to keep up with. “Slow down you maniacs, I can’t read that fast.”

 

_They have numbers written on their hips?!_

_KILL ME ITS THEIR FUCKING BIRTHDAYS_

 

Another premium message pops up; as Dan clicks it, he surreptitiously finds Phil’s hand out of frame, squeezing it tight.

 

“Okay, Phanlantis again,” Dan reads, peering at the message. “They ask ‘what is the significance of the numbers?’”

 

Dan smiles, one eyebrow raised. “Is there a single member of the phandom who honestly couldn't figure that one out?”

 

*

 

He's right, of course.

 

The phandom are certainly not slow on the uptake as a collective. It takes them less than a minute after the liveshow has ended to tweet both Dan and Phil with an excessive amount of enthusiasm, having figured out in what seems like milliseconds that they each have a tattoo of one another’s birthdays.

 

They don’t reply to anyone for a while.

 

They decide to stick to the current plan, and address the issue during the filming of PINOF 9. They get so many questions about it that it’s virtually impossible not to answer any, regardless.

 

So, they're sat side by side on 'Phil's bed', which they purchased primarily for show, squeezing it into the cupboard-sized room where Phil films his videos and does literally nothing else. It had seemed a little excessive, even to them, the lengths they took to ensure the fans didn't suspect they were spooning every night - and it turns out they needn't have fucking bothered.

 

The fans never believed the farce anyway, seeing they tiny room for what it was almost at once. A set.

 

Nevertheless, tradition is tradition, and PINOF wouldn't be PINOF unless Phil's green and blue plaid bedclothes were garishly winking out of the screen. 

 

It's been less than five minutes, and Dan is wearing a Pikachu onesie, Phil has three kiwis in his hands, and the familiar sharp, pungent smell of sharpie fumes clogs Dan's nostrils. 

 

"Okay, we've learnt that I am a shockingly mediocre juggler." Phil laughs, tossing the kiwis over his shoulder. Dan ducks theatrically, as if trying to avoid being struck by them. 

 

"Don't sell yourself short, Phil," Dan counters, patting him on the back in sympathy. "You're a heck of a clown in my eyes."

 

Phil rolls his eyes, but shouts: "Next question!" 

 

“Show us your tattoos!” Dan reads from Twitter, and laughs, lunging at Phil to expose his right hip.

 

Phil yelps and struggles, but inevitably allows Dan to yank his shirt over one hip, exposing the tiny numbers. Dan grabs his mobile and zooms in on the date, straddling Phil’s lap as he does it just because he can.

 

Phil tugs the phone free of Dan’s hand, and pushes him back on the bed, lifting his shirt to expose the tattoo inked into Dan’s left hip.

 

“There we go,” Dan says, pushing Phil away and sitting up again to look into the camera lens. They’ll edit in the close ups later. “So, let’s put this to rest once and for all – yes, the dates we chose are our birthdays. Phil got mine, and I got Phil’s. Those dates hold a kind of…” Dan pauses, glancing across at Phil for support. “…significance for us.”

 

“Particularly my birthday,” Phil adds on, cheekily.

 

Dan laughs, rolling his eyes. “Well yeah.” He looks directly into the camera lens, heart thrumming against what he’s about to say. “Phil’s just got a big head ‘cause he knows his birthday is always gonna be the better of the two now.”

 

Phil leans in closer, nudging Dan in the shoulder. “And why’s that, Dan?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes fondly. “Had to choose that day to marry me didn’t you? Couldn't have made it Christmas or Easter or Valentine's Day.” Dan sighs dramatically. "King Lester and his month long birthdays, honestly."

 

Phil grins, and it’s such an infectious sight that Dan starts grinning back. All of a sudden they’re kissing, though Dan couldn't tell you who initiated it.

 

Phil is smiling against his lips, and it’s incredible. It’s the best feeling Dan can fathom, knowing how perfectly, wonderfully happy Phil is, here, in this moment, kissing him on this bed he no longer needs, in a way he no longer has to hide.

 

The camera is still running, and Phil is still kissing him, but Dan’s mind isn’t wondering how difficult it will be to edit this out. All he can taste are the stars Phil showered on him when they met. All he can feel are the searching, steady hands of the man he loves totally, as they roam the curves of his body for the thousandth time.

 

It occurs to Dan, as he lets himself be pushed back onto the bed, that he’s spent the majority of his life unhappy. While there have been glimmers of light in the darkness, he’s never been able to call himself content.

 

He tried to find happiness so often, but couldn’t reach it in the pathways he tried. Sex, alcohol, success, fame… none of these transient things meant anything past the unreliable and occasional thrills they gave on the surface.

 

But Phil makes him happy, he sees that now. Phil has always made him happy, it's just that Dan never allowed himself to feel it. He let in short, static bursts of half-light every few months,; he was always too afraid of giving himself over to any more. 

 

But things have changed.

 

Now, Phil consumes him. Now his everlasting light punctures Dan’s flesh, floods the chambers of his body, illuminating him from within. Phil is everywhere, and he is everything. He is all that matters, and he is all that ever will.

 

With Phil, here, he is happy, in a way he has never been in his life.

 

The realisation makes Dan shudder, and Phil lifts his head in surprise.

 

“Ok?” Phil asks, smiling down at him.

 

“Okay,” Dan repeats, laughing breathlessly at the sheer absurdity of the question. “Phil...” he says, reverent. “Phil, everything is perfect.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOURCES:
> 
> Dan and Phil get stuck on the Rock 'n' Rollercoaster at Disneyworld in Florida in 2014.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2014), "STUCK ON A ROLLERCOASTER" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlfC3pigvEY. 
> 
> The Manchester Eye was demolished in 2012 because of some annoying guy who honestly should fuckin fight me  
> \- Wikipedia (2012), "Wheel of Manchester" [article], https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheel_of_Manchester.
> 
> Phil tweets a sad tweet about the Manchester Eye getting taken down  
> \- AmazingPhil (2012), "So I leave the country and they take down the Manchester wheel :o noooo" [tweet], https://twitter.com/amazingphil/status/194060261689262082?lang=en. 
> 
> The famous phandom conspiracy theory known as "reviewgate" or "tripadvisorgate", which is the foundation for the Hong Kong proposal lmao  
> \- panrophantic (2016), "reviewgate" [tumblr post], http://panrophantic.tumblr.com/post/153792466899/petalphan-darkphannie-link-i-found-this.
> 
> The Farfetch'd Quest Video where Phil is a lil sickly baby <3  
> \- DanAndPhilGAMES (2016), "Dan's Farfetch'd Quest in Hong Kong - Pokemon GO! #3" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fO_2J-Viytc.
> 
> The abandoned hospital I'm pretty sure dnp went to (original source for this is ofc the video that will not be named)  
> \- nerdishcouk (2010), "Video: Barnes Derelict Hospital, Greater Manchester" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAjg_K5tips.
> 
> My google maps search for how the heckity dnp got from manchester to that abandoned hospital  
> \- Google Maps (2017), "Manchester to Barnes Hospital" [search engine], 
> 
> Dan and Phil Monster Pop video  
> \- Daniel Howell (2016), "Halloween Baking - MONSTER POPS!" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpqxgWxbCEk.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:
> 
> Phil talks about/shows footage of Dan's birthday in London with Bryony and Wirrow.  
> \- AmazingPhil (2011) "I Smell Like A Girl" [video], https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4nMgu1zQYY, 1:21.
> 
> Phil tweets about visiting Bryony and Wirrow in London with Dan  
> \- AmazingPhil (2011) "Had a really nice weekend for @danisnotonfire's birthday with @MissPaperlilies & @wirrow ^.^" [tweet], https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/80307473566806016.


End file.
